The CEO's Surprise Family (4 page)

“Oh, my dear.” Sympathy filled Irene's brown eyes. “She would indeed. My apologies, Jethro. Such a tragedy to lose her so young. Do you know how her—”

“Family is doing?” Lexi quickly interrupted before Irene could mention Alliyah had a daughter. “Yes. Everyone misses Alliyah terribly but we're doing as well as can be expected.”

“Good, that's good. She's lucky to have had you for a friend. You let us know if we can do anything.”

“Absolutely,” Thomas confirmed. “And remember, you're welcome back with the troupe anytime you want.”

“Thank you both. You have a good evening now.” She gave them both a peck on the cheek and sent them on their way.

“Sorry about that.” She patted Jethro on the arm. “But no harm done.”

She hoped not anyway. She wanted to be the one to tell Jethro about Jazi. To gauge his reaction and sway him to her cause. He was a sharp guy; she didn't want him to be wondering about a child in Alliyah's life and start counting down the months.

“What are you after?”

“What?”

Jethro's firm grip on her arm gave her no option but to join him in a dimly lit hallway.

“Hey.” She tried to shake her arm loose, but he held on.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I don't know what you mean. I'm Lexi.”

“How is it that you know everyone?”

“I don't know everyone. That's crazy.” She pulled against his grip. “You're hurting me.” Not really, but he had her unnerved and that was close enough.

“Quit squirming and it won't hurt.” His fingers loosened but he retained his hold, forcing her to follow him down the hall.

“Let me go and I'll quit squirming.”

He opened the door of a well-appointed office. It had a feminine feel and Lexi guessed it belonged to Lana, the gallery manager.

Jaw clenched, he released her. Then frowned at the red marks on her skin. “Your skin is too delicate.”

She rubbed her arm singeing him with a reproachful glare. “Apology accepted.”

She dropped into a visitor's chair and crossed her legs.

“Sorry,” he muttered belatedly, grudgingly. He sat on the edge of the desk. “Now tell me how you know so many people. I saw you talking with people all over the gallery.”

“Just because I talked to people doesn't mean I know them. Is this about me not protecting you from the madding crowd? You seemed fine whenever I glanced your way.”

“Mocking me will not save you. Answer the question.”

“Save me?” She laughed.

He didn't.

“You targeted me, Ms. Malone. I want to know why.”

CHAPTER FOUR

L
EXI
PUSHED
THROUGH
her front door, slammed it shut behind her and threw the bolts. Unable to shake the sense of being pursued, she backed away.

Pull it together, girl. The man had better things to do than chase her down.

After Jethro dropped his question bomb, she'd slipped out when Lana and Ethan walked in carrying the piece Ethan had chosen for Jethro.

Best timing ever.

Okay, she'd panicked.

She hadn't been prepared for his questions.

In the bedroom she grabbed a nightgown—a lavender bit of silk edged in black lace—and headed into the bathroom for a shower. She'd bolted. What else could she do? He thought she was some femme fatale intent on getting something from him.

And, in a way, she was.

He'd been so intense she didn't know if she'd ever be prepared to face off against him.

But she would. For Jazi.

Lexi clung to the fact he gave Miguel a healthy tip when he learned of his new baby. It showed he had some sensitivity for kids. Right?

During the cab ride home she'd decided she needed to call tomorrow and make an appointment with Jethro. She'd see him before she went into work and get this all straightened out.

Stepping under the spray, she rinsed her hair, letting the hot water soothe her. As plans went, it lacked finesse and relied heavily on his willingness to see her again. But what she'd learned of him tonight told her an up-front, honest approach was her best bet.

All the things she could say filtered through her head as she dried off and applied a tropical-scented lotion in honor of Ethan's
Escape
painting. The silk of her nightgown glided over her skin in a sensual fall, ending at midthigh. She continued to ruminate while combing and drying her hair. The thick auburn tresses were still damp when she thought she heard a knock on her door.

Flipping off the hairdryer, she listened and the knocking came again. She wrinkled her nose. The last thing she needed tonight was the distraction of a friend coming over for gossip and coffee, something dancers liked to do. Since she'd left the troupe, she often had people dropping by.

Or maybe that's exactly what she needed. To just get out of her head and focus on someone else for a while. By the time she reached the door, she was ready to embrace whoever stood on the other side.

She swung the door wide. “Hell...''

Bug-eyed, she stared at Jethro Calder.

“What? How?”

His navy eyes swept over her darkening to near black by the time his gaze met hers. Who knew black could show such heat? He stepped forward, crowding her.

Instinctively she backed away.

He kept coming and she kept retreating until he cleared the threshold. He closed the door behind him.

“Are you crazy?” he demanded. “You don't answer the door without knowing who's on the other side.” His gaze made another journey over her as he continued to stalk her. “Especially dressed like that.

“How are you here?” She meant it as an accusation. It came out in a whisper as she continued to dodge his pursuit. She hit a chair and sidestepped.

“Does it matter?” He caught her elbow when she tripped over the ottoman and nearly landed on her rump. “You wanted me and, sunshine, you've got me.” Lifting her to her toes, he lowered his head and slanted his lips over hers.

Her hands landed on his chest ready to push him away. But oh, my...

For all his ferocity, when his mouth took hers, there was no anger, no punishing assault on her senses, nothing but pure passion, undiluted desire. The soft pressure of his lips lured her into opening to him.

Oh, he took, with a seductive demand that had her lifting farther onto her toes and looping her arms around his neck. Her mind was lost, transferring the cadence of his touch to notes in her head. Grip, glide, soft, firm, thrust, nip—the heat built in body and melody to a place she'd never been before.

He whispered erotic threats and words were added to the song in her head.

As she floated on sensation, he became her rock, hard, solid, grounded. His arms were a haven of safety and the orchestrators of the sensation and rhythm surging through her.

She wanted more. Now. More of his taste, more of his touch, more of his heat. More.

And then her knees hit up against something and she sat. She blinked and her bedroom came into focus. He'd moved them down the hall and into her room without her even noticing they were moving.

Eyes liquid with arousal, he watched her as he unbuttoned his shirt. He'd lost his jacket somewhere along the trek to the bedroom.

And OMG, she'd lost her nightgown. She sat in front of him in nothing more than a rosy blush of need.

Sanity came rushing back with a roar.

“Stop. Whoa.” Grabbing the edge of her sunny yellow comforter, she wrapped it around herself. She wasn't modest, a dancer couldn't afford the luxury, but she felt too exposed under his ravenous regard. “I'm sorry, but this is not going to happen.”

His fingers froze on the last connected button. “Excuse me?” Dark brows lowered in a fierce scowl.

Intimidating, much? Oh, yeah.

“I'm sorry,” she said again. And she meant it. He'd just lit her up like a torch in every way imaginable, body, mind, soul. And he couldn't be more off-limits if he were the Pope. “This isn't what I intended when I sought you out.”

If anything the scowl deepened. “Explain.”

The demand was nearly a growl. It occurred to her she should be afraid, but she wasn't. She'd been in his arms, felt his body resonate with hers. He'd never hurt a woman. Not physically anyway. He had too much control. But there were worse ways he could make her pay. Her mind raced. This needed to be handled carefully.

Feeling at a disadvantage, she inched to the side and stood up. He stepped back giving her some room. She breathed in relief. “I'd prefer to get dressed for this conversation if you don't mind.”

It wasn't a question and still he looked ready to protest, a signal to her that he was in charge of what happened here. Never mind it was her apartment. Clearly the man was used to being in command wherever he went. Finally, he gave a brief nod and left the room.

Okay, in no way did his silence reassure her. Anger defined the rigid line of his shoulders as he strode away.

“There's wine in the refrigerator and glasses in the cupboard to the right,” she called out, then bit her lip. This wasn't a date, but she knew if he left, she'd lose all chance of ever talking to him.

Ready or not the time had come to plead her case.

She grabbed clothes from the dresser and hurried into them, soft gray sweats and a baby-blue sweater cropped at the waist. In the bathroom she tamed her hair into a ponytail and noticed the pants clung to the curves of her butt and the sweater played peekaboo with her belly button. Dang. Time didn't allow for another change.

Tugging at the hem of the sweater she went to wrangle the shark in her living room.

He leaned against the counter of her kitchen island, sipping a glass of wine. His dark gaze ran over her making her senses tingle.

“You have five minutes,” he stated in that near growl that just added to his effect on her body.

Ignoring the urges she could never act on, she helped herself to some wine. She perched on one of the bar stools at the island and took a sip.

“Four minutes. Don't try my patience, Ms. Malone.”

“I really wanted to do this differently. I was going to come by your office—” She slanted him a wry glance and reached for a picture frame at the end of the counter. Handing it to him, she said softly, “Alliyah had a daughter. Her name is Jasmine. She's twenty-three-months-old.”

He refused to accept the picture, didn't even glance at it. “What does that have to do with me?”

“You said I targeted you. This is why. In the article I read about Pinnacle, there was a picture included. You and the other executives were holding up the award. I saw your birthmark.”

One dark brow lifted. “You targeted me because of my birthmark?”

So cool, so unaffected when her whole life weighed in the balance.

“Yes.” She hesitated, prayed this was the right decision, that she wasn't risking losing Jazi to the one person Lexi could never get her back from. “Because Jasmine has the same birthmark.”

Okay, she had Jethro's attention. Truthfully, she'd had his attention from the moment she walked into The Beacon in that snug little black dress and he hoped she'd be his date. But never in his wildest imaginings had he considered the night would end up here. He'd been suspicious of her, enough to follow her here.

The sight of her draped in damp silk, white teeth biting her lush lower lip, had sidetracked him for an irrational moment. A hot, blow-his-mind moment that should never have happened. The lack of discipline was in no small part responsible for his...mood.

No one ever accused him of being dense. She meant to suggest Jasmine was his daughter. And he dealt with numbers every day, so he could do the math. The timing fit. But not the circumstances. He never had unprotected sex, never.

“Coincidence,” he stated.

She groaned and shook her head. “You don't strike me as a man big on coincidence.”

She wasn't wrong. But he didn't budge. No way was she laying this on him. Family wasn't in his future. In order to survive, he'd had to shut down his emotions. It was a lesson too well learned to change. Plus, he'd force no one to share his secret shame. All in all he sucked at relationships, lacked the skill set as one woman told him. When he hit thirty, he quit trying. He'd found Excursions about a year later.

So no, no family for him. And he was fine with that. He'd come to terms with the notion long ago, had made it clear to all who knew him. Jethro wasn't prepared for that to change now.

Certainly not on the whim of a woman he barely knew. Even if she turned him so upside down he'd practically jumped her as soon as he'd walked inside the door. What had he been thinking?

The problem was he hadn't been thinking; he'd been feeling. Further proof emotions couldn't be trusted.

“You have the wrong man.”

Lexi slid from the stool and held the picture frame up in front of him. “She has your eyes.”

Don't look. It's a ploy. She just wants a rich baby daddy to support the orphan and you're the lucky dupe.

The warning blasted through Jethro's brain. But not even his legendary restraint proved stronger than the compulsion to look.

The baby was beautiful. A little girl with wild black curls and a smile so big and sweet he felt blessed just seeing it. She danced in the picture, her arms were raised and her tiny butt was cocked to the side and one pink-sandaled foot poised in the air. Jethro spied a smudge on one wrist that could be a birthmark. She had light beige skin, a sharp little nose.

And midnight-blue eyes ringed by lush black lashes.

Yeah, the birthmark was iffy, but those eyes, he'd never seen that exact color anywhere but in the mirror. The shape of her eyes, and her straight little eyebrows also matched his.

“I'm not looking for money.” Lexi broke the silence. “And I don't expect you to change your life. I read that you don't want a family.”

“Then what is this about, Ms. Malone?” He placed the picture facedown on the counter, the better to concentrate on the woman before him. His life just did a one-eighty. He needed to focus. “What do you want?”

“Can you call me Lexi?” Her cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink. “We just shared...” She waved her hand in the direction of the bedroom. “...a moment. It seems foolish to be so formal.”

“I've been foolish in more than one regard tonight, Ms. Malone—calling me on it isn't your smartest move.”

“Why foolish?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Her position drew attention to her breasts, which were small but plump. And pert, a detail he remembered in vivid Technicolor. Her stance also caused a thin strip of pale skin to show at her waist. His fingers itched to touch that silky skin again.

“Because you didn't have control of every moment of the evening?” she went on. “Because you actually enjoyed yourself? News flash, people do it all the time.”

“Because none of it was real.” Or did her show of attitude indicate otherwise? Was she upset because she, too, had got more caught up in their time together than she'd intended?

So what if she was? It didn't matter. Couldn't matter. She was so off-limits she may as well live on Venus.

“What do you want from me?” If it wasn't money or for him to assume care of Jasmine, which would definitely change his life, then what else was there?

She sighed and relaxed her stance. “I want to adopt her.”

He lifted both brows. That was a response he hadn't expected. And why did it give him mixed feelings of relief and disappointment?

“Sounds like you have it all worked out. So why do you need me?”

A look of anguish flashed through her pure blue eyes.

“Even though I'm Jazi's godmother and it's what Alliyah would want, I don't meet the qualifications for an adoptive parent. I'm single and a dancer.” She shrugged as if that said it all. “I need you to assume custody and then we can do a private adoption.”

Custody. The word sent a rumble of dread down his back. And made him wonder. “Where is she?”

“Child Protective Services took her away. She's in foster c-care.” She pressed her lips together and blinked a couple of times. “Alliyah would hate that.”

The thought of his daughter in foster care burned like acid through his blood.

Except she may not be his daughter at all. The fact she had a birthmark and his eyes was circumstantial at best. Still, he'd spent too many years in the grueling system to be placid about any innocent being tossed to that merciless grist mill.