Buch lesen: «The CEO's Secret Baby»

Damn, she was in trouble.

Lying in the dark with him, side by side in separate beds, while their child slept nearby, her desire intensified, becoming so strong she couldn’t sleep. Her entire body burned with need.

In the bed next to her, Tucker’s ragged breathing told her that he had the same problem. “Tucker?” she said, then mentally kicked herself for speaking. “Are you…?”

“Yes, I’m thinking about you,” he said, his voice harsh. “Fantasizing about you. And yes, Lucy, I want you. More than you could ever believe.”

She gasped as need and desire blossomed through her. So much for careful resolutions and planning. She could no more resist this man than she could stop breathing.

If that made her a fool, then so be it.

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Dear Reader,

As often is the case with writers, The CEO’s Secret Baby stemmed from my thinking “what if?” What if a man had been held prisoner for a year and when set free, returned home to find that he might as well have become a ghost? Believing him dead, his girlfriend had gone on without him, forging a new relationship with his best friend. Even more shockingly, she’d been pregnant and he has a three-month-old son!

And then I had to wonder what it would be like to be her, having lost the man you loved, carried and birthed his baby and, after a year, forged a tentative alliance with his best friend. Only to have all this blow up in her face when her first love shows up, not dead after all. Throw in a Mexican drug cartel and ten million missing dollars, and things start to heat up even more.

A fascinating concept, yes? I hope I’ve done it justice. For this book, we return to my beloved Boulder, Colorado, in the summer, normally a carefree time, but not for them. I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Karen Whiddon

The CEO’s Secret Baby
Karen Whiddon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KAREN WHIDDON

started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at the age of eleven. Amidst the Catskill Mountains of New York, then the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, she fueled her imagination with the natural beauty of the rugged peaks and spun stories of love that captivated her family’s attention.

Karen now lives in north Texas, where she shares her life with her very own hero of a husband and three doting dogs. Also an entrepreneur, she divides her time between the business she started and writing the contemporary romantic suspense and paranormal romances that readers enjoy. You can email Karen at KWhiddon1@aol.com or write to her at P.O. Box 820807, Fort Worth, TX 76182. Fans of her writing can also check out her website, www.karenwhiddon.com.

To my husband’s family,

who have also become mine. Floyd, Sarah,

and Lavenia. Know that I love you dearly.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 1

The Fourth of July began like any other summer morning. Lucy Knowlton woke up, well-rested after a dreamless night, and showered. Then, with sunlight streaming lemon yellow through her open kitchen window, she ate her normal breakfast—multigrain Cheerios with sliced strawberries and almond milk.

The early morning air was still cool, though she knew the temperature would continue to rise. All in all, she felt…good. Surprisingly upbeat. Maybe because she’d actually slept well. She supposed she should feel grateful that she’d finally stopped having nightmares about Tucker and how he must have felt when the plane went down.

Rinsing her dishes in the sink and stacking them in the dishwasher, she’d just finished when her three-month-old baby, Eli, cried to let her know he was awake and wanted to be fed. The obvious delight in his bright blue eyes as he latched on to her breast made her happy and she smiled. Vaguely amazed at the soft happiness she felt, she thought her smiles came a little bit more frequently these days. Or at least she hoped so.

After all, she had so much to be thankful for. Though Tucker’s absence had left her with a gaping hole in her life, over time she’d tried to pull the tattered edges closer together. A week, a month, a day, a minute at a time.

Still, at any given moment she could calculate exactly how long it had been since Tucker had died. Today marked one year, two weeks and one day. Ignoring the ever-present ache of missing him, she spent the rest of the morning puttering around the house doing myriad daily chores.

Humming nursery rhymes to entertain Eli in his playpen, she washed two loads of laundry, cleaned her bathroom and mopped the kitchen floor. In between she changed Eli’s diaper, sang to him, rocked him and cuddled him. She found if she kept busy, she didn’t think so much. All in all, life kept getting better.

Come early afternoon, she put Eli down for a nap. At three months old, he slept a lot still, for which she was guiltily grateful, as she couldn’t seem to find enough hours in the day to get everything done.

Especially today. Glad her energy was high, because she still had a lot to do before the holiday celebration later. And it was very important to her that she attend the fireworks display, even though she wouldn’t take the baby inside the stadium because of the noise. She’d watch from a distance and try to stay until the very end. She planned to do this in honor of Tucker—the Fourth of July had been his favorite holiday. Last year, she’d been too devastated to even consider attending any kind of celebration.

This year, she’d do it up right.

So, on this day of all days, she pushed aside her grief at his untimely death and tried to feel lighthearted. At least she could count on Sean Morey, Tucker’s best friend and her brand-new fiancé, to help her as they watched the fireworks display explode in vibrant colors in the velvet sky above them.

When the doorbell rang, the muted sound of the clear, mellow chimes made her smile again. A gift from Sean, he’d installed them only a few days ago. She loved the way they sounded, too quiet to wake Eli, but loud enough to let her know someone was at the door. Her obvious delight in the chimes had to be the reason why Sean rang them now instead of just walking inside as he usually did.

Keeping her smile firmly in place so Sean wouldn’t worry because she always looked so sad, she hurried to the front door and pulled it open.

“Hey, you!” As she took in the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man standing on her front step, her less than genuine smile froze in place.

A ghost looked back at her from sapphire blue eyes exactly like her son’s. Her heart skipped a beat and she struggled to breathe. Not Sean, as she’d supposed. But Tucker, instead. Tucker Drover, the man who, for all intents and purposes, had died a little over one year ago in a fiery plane crash in Mexico.

Died. She’d attended his funeral, wept over his grave.

This. Could. Not. Be. Real.

Had she finally lost it? Closing her eyes, she inhaled and counted to three before opening them again.

He was still there, his shadow long and dark behind him in the bright sunlight. Standing on her doorstep, staring back at her, his amazing eyes roaming over her as intimate as a touch, making her shiver.

Tucker? Really? She couldn’t speak, unable to trust her eyes. He continued to watch at her, his expectant smile fading as she continued to stare in shocked disbelief.

“Say something,” he entreated. “Welcome me home, curse me out, I don’t know. But say something, Lucy. Do something.”

Though he sounded weary, his tone low and ragged, she would have recognized that beloved voice anywhere. Tucker. Tucker was…alive? How could this be?

Paralyzed, she tried to form words to demand answers. Pain warred with hope, agony with desire. Tucker was dead. He couldn’t be standing here on her doorstep. Was this a trick? Some kind of hallucination? One of those nightmares that she’d thought she’d vanquished?

Had she finally completely gone insane?

“Lucy?” he rasped, narrowing his eyes. “Are you all right?”

She didn’t faint, even though the edges of her vision momentarily went gray and the ground seemed to tilt in front of her. Staring at him, she tried to remember to breathe, still dimly certain that this couldn’t be real.

“Lucy?” he said again, cocking his head and studying her with that serious, glinting blue gaze she’d always loved. Finally, hope slammed into her, mingling with joy and shock and disbelief and…love.

“Tucker,” she managed, her throat closing up as words failed her. But it didn’t matter; nothing did, because Tucker was here, with her. Alive. He’d come back alive.

She let her gaze devour him, feeling starved. Taking in his rugged, beloved face, his broad shoulders and muscular arms suddenly wasn’t enough. She needed to feel him, his arms around her. She needed to bury her face in the crook of his neck, to inhale the woodsy scent of him. She needed reassurance that she wasn’t dreaming, that indeed, this was real.

“Is it…?” Her voice came out in a croak. Trying to understand, to assimilate how he could both be here and not, she took a step forward, dizzy, swaying, confused. “Tucker? It’s you? It’s really you?”

Head tilted quizzically, he gave the smallest of nods. Still, he made no move to take her in his arms, to hold her close. She didn’t understand why not, didn’t really care at this point. Tucker was home!

She made the first move herself. Taking a step forward, she threw herself at him, joy filling her. Her heart beat a frantic tattoo in her chest as she wrapped her arms around him, holding on like she never wanted to let him go. Which she didn’t. Not ever.

Gradually, she became conscious of the fact that, though he hugged her back, something was…different. He held himself stiffly. Rather than relaxing into her embrace, he seemed to be only going through the motions.

She pulled back and looked up at him. While his eyes were still the same shocking shade of sapphire, the look in them was not. Anger and bitterness, rather than love, warred in his amazing eyes.

Anger? At her?

As she eyed him, Tucker, this man who’d disappeared from her life so suddenly and violently, whose supposed death had ripped the heart from her chest and stripped all the joy from her world, she suddenly realized she was angry, too. Furious.

Glaring up at him, she stepped back, keeping hold of his arms. “What happened to you? Where have you been all this time? Why didn’t you call?”

“I couldn’t,” he said simply. “After they got me out, they wouldn’t let me have access to a phone, even after my debriefing. Take my word for it. If I could have called, I would have.”

“They? Debriefing?” She needed answers. She deserved answers. “Tucker?” she kept her voice level. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“Sorry.” Letting out a breath, he dragged his hand across his chin. “It’s a long story and I’m dead on my feet. Can I come in?”

Without hesitation, she stepped aside, gesturing for him to move past her. Once he did, she closed the door, quietly clicking the lock into place. All of her motions were slow and deliberate, as though the simple routine of performing regular gestures could make everything normal again.

Normal. As if. For a heartbeat, one frozen moment, she let her own anger simmer, then took a deep breath and ruthlessly pushed it back down inside her, allowing the joy to come flooding back. Tucker was alive. He’d returned home; miraculously back from the dead, like Lazarus pushing aside his funeral shroud. Alive.

They would rejoice, they should rejoice, but first, surely he owed her a few words of explanation. He’d disappeared for over a year, made no effort to contact her, and let her believe he was dead. She needed to understand why.

Trembling from the effort of remaining calm, she turned again to face him. He watched her, expression impassive, detached when he should have been joyful. This, she also didn’t understand.

“You seem surprised to see me,” he commented, one corner of his mouth lifting in a twisted sort of smile. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Lucy girl?”

Despite herself, warmth curled inside of her at the familiar nickname. She hadn’t been called that since the last time she’d seen him.

“Of course I’m surprised.” Her voice came out wobbly. Taking a deep breath, she eyed him, full of a cautious sort of love—and pain. “Seriously, I really need to know where you’ve been all this time. We thought you were dead.”

“Dead?” He lifted a brow, inadvertently making her insides clench from the sheer masculine beauty of his rugged features. “Really?”

Scarcely able to believe that he wasn’t taking her seriously, she nodded. “Yes. We were officially notified that you were dead.”

“We?”

“Sean and I. Remember him? Your best friend? Or did you forget about him, too?” Guilt and anger propelling her, she swept by him, leading the way into her living room, hyper-conscious of him right behind. Alive. Alive.

“We thought you were dead,” she repeated. “I wept over your picture at your funeral—we didn’t even have a body to bury. Your parents flew in from Nepal.” Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away to hide it.

Gathering her composure, she continued. “I’ve mourned you, Tucker. You don’t know how much I’ve grieved over you. And now…you’re here. Alive and waltzing into the house as though nothing has happened, asking me if I’m surprised to see you.”

Perching on the edge of the couch, she gestured for him to take a seat in the overstuffed chair he’d always claimed as his own. “I don’t understand. Explain this to me. I don’t even know what page you’re on.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, sounding both bewildered and sad. “I’ve been through so much. I’m confused and recovering. But I swear to you, no one told me you thought I died.”

He took a deep breath and blew it back out again. “I was in pretty bad shape. The ones who rescued me, they were mostly concerned with making sure I didn’t really die to tell me anything.”

Again with the odd, sketchy references.

“Once they got me back to health, they had questions of their own that they wanted answered,” he continued. “Too many of them to remember. And yes, I’ve been told I was gone over a year, though time passes differently when you’re in that sort of situation. In this, I had no choice in the matter.”

“I still don’t understand. I guess you think what you’re saying is clear, but it makes no sense to me.”

Slowly, he nodded. “I’m sorry. Let me start over.”

Crossing her arms to keep from touching him, she caught her breath as she belatedly realized exhaustion showed white around the edge of his mouth. Despite his tanned skin and corded, muscular arms, he was thin as a rail, too, though his shoulders were still as broad.

And he was just as beautiful.

“Start at the beginning,” she offered.

“Okay. Let me tell you as much as I remember,” he said. “One minute I was striding through the Mexican fields with the man I went to meet. You remember. His name was Carlos, and he claimed to have grown a completely new and fantastic strain of coffee beans.”

He’d gone to obtain samples to see if his company, Boulder’s Best Brew, would be interested in distributing them.

“I felt a blow at the back of my head like an explosion,” he continued. “After that, I regained consciousness chained and was trussed like an animal, with a headache the size of Denver.”

His eyes were haunted as he paused. “I had no idea where I was. I’d gone down in the wilds of the Mexican jungle. Carlos, the two employees who’d traveled with me, as well as my Spanish interpreter, had vanished—either dead or captured, too. I was a prisoner, with no way to contact you or Sean or even the American embassy. Worse, I had no idea why.”

Though he paused as if inviting comments, Lucy didn’t interrupt. Holding her gaze, he swallowed and continued.

“They tortured me enough to put me on the tattered edge of crazy. Without my interpreters, I couldn’t understand most of what they asked me, though after a while I realized they thought I’d stolen something. Instead, I tried to figure out a way out of there, a way home to you. I began making up lies to keep them from torturing me more. But no matter what they did to me, I couldn’t tell them what they wanted because I truly didn’t know.”

“They? Who were they?” she asked, her throat aching at the haunting look on his face. “Who did this to you?”

He winced as he shrugged. “As best as I could tell, I was held prisoner by a major Mexican drug cartel.”

“Did you tell them that they had the wrong person?”

“I tried. But since my Spanish is extremely limited, the explanation I tried to give them fell on deaf ears.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t kill you.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “At first, I dreamed of escape, of home. After a while, I mostly dreamt of death. I wanted them to just go ahead and kill me. Get it over with. But they wouldn’t end my suffering and let me die.”

His voice broke and he looked down briefly before continuing. “I still don’t understand why not. Drug cartels like this one are ruthless. They usually kill spies or anyone who pissed them off without blinking. You’ve heard the stories of the mass graves found near the border, where they lined their enemies up near a shallow ditch and shot them in the back. But not me.” He sounded bitter, but this time, she understood why.

“For whatever reason, they kept me alive, using me as entertainment. Bored? Go torture the prisoner. Can’t sleep? Then make sure the prisoner doesn’t, either.”

She shuddered at his words, aching, wanting both to stop him and let him go on, hoping maybe once he’d told the story he could purge the horror from his system.

“I hated them with a passion,” he continued. “Though I was careful not to reveal the depths of my rage. As it became more and more clear that they had no intention of killing me, I knew I had to get out. If I could escape, I could try to get home.

“I tried to formulate a plan, but came up with nothing. The only thing I knew for sure was escaping wouldn’t be easy. My captors fed me just enough to keep me breathing, no more. Weakened by starvation, I could barely walk, never mind hike through miles of jungle to search out civilization and rescue.”

“Oh, Tucker. I’m so sorry.”

He went on talking as though he hadn’t heard her. “Basically, unless there was a miracle, I knew I was a dead man. I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. My luck had finally run out.”

“How’d you escape?” she asked.

His gaze cleared and he dipped his chin. “A rival drug faction ambushed my captors. The ensuing shootout left several dead, many more wounded, while the rest fled. I was left, alone and forgotten in my jail cell. By then, circumstances had extinguished even the smallest flicker of hope. I simply waited to die of starvation and neglect. I hoped I wouldn’t linger—after all, how long could my body hang on by the proverbial thread?”

He went silent.

“But you were rescued. By whom?” she prompted.

“The DEA had someone undercover. Apparently, they learned of my capture and got me out. After that, everything was a blur. The next thing I knew, I found myself in a hospital in San Antonio, Texas, under heavy guard. I was questioned by some military-looking types, who’d claimed to be DEA. My repeated attempts to contact my family had been met with refusal. I was told only that making any outside contact could endanger my life. I was so heavily guarded that I felt like I was a prisoner again.”

“But they finally let you go?” she asked. “Do you have any idea why?”

“No. But once my fever was gone and I could keep solid food down and stand unassisted, they finally released me. They even arranged for transport, driving me here in one of those nondescript, law-enforcement type vehicles and dropping me off.” He flashed her a smile, a shadow of the carefree grins she remembered. “And here I am.”

“And here you are,” Lucy echoed. She wanted to go to him and hold him, but instead she kept herself still, hands clenched together. Her anger now directed at herself, she wondered how to tell him what she’d done. Tucker had already been through hell.

Before he’d disappeared and supposedly died, she’d waited forever for him to propose to her. Instead, he’d let his wanderlust haul him all over the globe, unwilling or unable to commit.

And now, believing him dead for over a year, she’d gone and gotten herself engaged to his best friend.

She felt ill, positively sick. Barely two weeks ago she’d agreed to become Sean’s wife.

“Why did they think you were dead?” she cried. “I would have moved heaven and earth to find you if I’d had the tiniest bit of hope that you’d survived. But they said you didn’t. They said it was you.”

“I…” Closing his eyes as though by doing so, he could block out all emotion, he shook his shaggy head. “I don’t know. They didn’t say anything about this when they debriefed me. You really thought I was…”

“Yes. Dead.” She spoke deliberately. “You were killed in the plane crash.”

“Lucy, listen to me. I wasn’t in a plane crash,” he said, his raspy voice simmering with undercurrents of lingering fury mixed with exhaustion.

So they were both angry. And maybe one of them was crazy. But which one? She was beginning to wonder.

“There was a plane crash,” she insisted. “We were told you were dead. The plane went down, exploded on impact, killing all on board. They identified Bruno, and Carlos, the man you’d gone to meet. And they found your wallet, though the…remains were too badly charred and scattered to know for sure.”

“Who told you this?”

“The authorities, of course.”

“Oh, Lucy.”

Unable to sit still any longer, she got up and crossed the room to stand in front of him. “I thought you were dead.” Unthinking, she reached out her hand to him.

While he didn’t recoil, not exactly, he shifted and moved enough so that her outstretched fingers didn’t come in contact with him at all.

As she slowly lowered her arm, he stared at her silently, as a stranger might, offering no embrace, no kiss, nothing to show that they’d loved each other once.

Twisting the ring on her finger, she realized it was a very good thing she and Sean had gotten engaged.

Tucker’s gaze followed the motion. “Let me see your hand.”

The ring. Sean’s ring. Slowly, she lifted her hand, wincing as he took it, raising it so the large ring glittered in the sunlight streaming through her front window.

“Nice.” Jaw clenched, he fairly spat the word. “Who?”

“I thought you were dead,” she cried.

“Who?” he demanded again.

Taking a deep breath, she told him. “Sean.”

He jerked back, clearly stunned. “Sean? Sean Morey?”

“Yes.” She inhaled, exhaled, scrambling for a rational explanation and finding none, except…there was always the truth. “I waited for you, but—”

“Obviously,” he bit out. “Whatever happened to I’ll love you forever?”

“Don’t be like that.” She threw her words at him, using anger to cover her pain. “You were dead, Tucker. For over a year, I mourned you. Sean was here for me. Even…”

“Even before my so-called death?”

Inwardly she flinched, but reminding herself that she’d resolved to stick with the truth, she lifted her chin. “Sean and I were friends, Tucker. Nothing more. You know that.”

“Obviously you were more than that.”

Ignoring his sarcastic reply, she kept on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Friends,” she said firmly. “But while you were traveling around the globe in your never-ending search for the elusive perfect coffee bean, Sean stayed here and kept me company.”

“I’ll bet he did.” More than bitter, he sounded furious. As if he had a right to be.

“I waited for you,” she sighed. “And if you hadn’t died, I’d probably still be waiting for you to get tired of roaming the world.” This was an old argument and one that had never made the slightest impression on him before.

Nor did it appear to now. Eyes narrowed, he continued to watch her. “So you’re telling me that less than one year after my so-called death, you got engaged to my best friend?”

Squaring her shoulders, she stared right back. “You were gone an entire year. Twelve long months without a single word from you.”

“It. Was. Not. My. Fault.” He ground out the words.

She almost hung her head. Instead, she lifted her chin and let him see the agony in her eyes. “Nor was it mine.”

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” he said. “I died and came back to life, and returned home to find out you’ve moved on.”

“I just did the best I could to try and live my life.” The ache in her throat told her she was perilously close to tears. Circumstances and events had changed them both. Things could never be the same between them.

Except, she thought, horrified. There had been another change, the biggest one of all. Now, she had a son. They had a son. Eli, Tucker’s child. Even though she’d only learned of her pregnancy after the plane crash, even if things had been different and Tucker had returned a year ago from his coffee expedition, she would have been unwilling to use their baby as a reason to tie him to her.

Just as she wouldn’t use it now. Still, she had to tell him.

As she opened her mouth to speak, her front door opened, making her jump.

Sean. Ah, crap, she’d forgotten. Glancing once more at Tucker, she hurried over to the foyer. “Sean, there’s—”

“Happy Fourth,” Sean interrupted, pulling her close in a one-armed hug and kissing her hard on the mouth before releasing her. Closing the front door quietly behind him so he wouldn’t wake the baby, he came inside, carrying several plastic grocery bags.

“Sean, I need—”

Oblivious, he pulled her in again for another quick kiss. “Hey,” he said, grinning. “I snagged a perfect watermelon and picked up some of those diet drinks you love so much.”

“Great. Um, there’s been a change of plans.” Wiping her hands nervously down the front of her shorts, she once again found herself struggling to find the right words. Sean eyed her curiously, his smile gradually fading.

Finally, she simply moved aside and gestured toward the living room and the man who stood silently watching them.

Taking a step forward, Sean’s expression changed when he caught sight of Tucker. Shock flashed across his face, then disbelief, and then finally, joy.

“Tucker?” Sean managed, talking a halting step forward. “Is it really you?”

“Yep,” Tucker rasped, eyeing his former best friend with narrowed eyes. “It’s me, all right.”

“Tucker?” Juggling his bags, Sean moved closer. He glanced from Tucker to Lucy, then back again. “How… What?”

When Tucker didn’t answer, Lucy swallowed and took over. “It’s really him, Sean. He’s—”

“Actually here,” Tucker finished for her, pushing a hand wearily through his hair. “In the flesh, still alive, though barely.” Swaying slightly, he flashed Sean a tightlipped, humorless smile. “Surprised?”

“Surprised isn’t the word!” Depositing the bags on the floor, Sean crossed the room and guy-hugged his best friend, grinning. If he noticed Tucker’s lack of response, he didn’t comment. Instead, he grimaced before stepping back and cocking his head. “Where the hell have you been, man? We thought you were dead.”

“Long story,” Tucker replied. When his gaze found Lucy’s, she read a regretful warning in his blue eyes. Warning against what? Against Sean, his—no, their—best friend?

Damn. Stunned, Lucy continued to study him, unable to help herself. His auburn hair looked much the same, though duller. He wore it longer and much shaggier. His clothing hung on his tall frame and had the battered look of worn hand-me-downs. The sallow color of his skin spoke of illness. Still, she found him too beautiful for her own good.

She felt a moment of sorrow, which she squashed. Shaking her head, she swallowed, the knot in her chest tightening. Blinking back sudden and unwanted tears, she busied herself with grabbing the grocery bags up off the floor and carrying them to the kitchen so she could unpack them. Busy work, busy work, as if by keeping her hands occupied she could hold back the flood of emotions.

Still, she could only hide out in the kitchen for so long. Eventually, she had to go back to where the two men continued to talk quietly.

Returning, she got about halfway there when a loud wail split the air, making her freeze in her tracks. Eli, waking up from his nap. And she hadn’t yet managed to tell Tucker that he had a son.