The Beaumont Brothers: Not the Boss's Baby. Sarah M. Anderson
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look innocent and naughty at the same time.
He took a step forward, all of his best intentions blown to hell by the look on her face. The same look she’d had the night before when he’d kissed her. She wanted him.
God, that made him feel good.
“What about the kiss?”
Finally, she dropped her gaze from his body to the floor. “It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have kissed you. That was unprofessional and I apologize.” She rushed through the words in one breath, sounding like she’d spent at least half the night rehearsing that little speech. “It won’t happen again.”
Wait—what? Was she taking all the blame for that? No. It’s not like she’d shoved him against the wall and groped him. He was the one who’d pulled her into his arms. He was the one who’d lifted her chin. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought I was the one who kissed you.”
“Yes, well, it was still unprofessional, and it shouldn’t have happened while I was on the job.”
For a second, Chadwick knew he’d screwed up. She was serious. He’d be lucky if she didn’t file suit against him.
But then she lifted her head, her bottom lip tucked under her teeth as she peeked at his bare torso. There was no uncertainty in her eyes—just the same desire that was pumping through his veins.
Then he realized what she’d said—while she was on the job.
Would she be “on the job” on Saturday night? Or off the clock?
“Of course,” he agreed. Because, even though she was looking at him like that and he was wearing nothing more than a towel, he was not his father. He could be a reasonable, rational man. Not one solely driven by his baser needs. He could rein in his desires.
Sort of.
“What time shall I pick you up for dinner on Saturday?”
Her lower lip still held captive by her teeth—God, what would it feel like if she bit his lip like that?—he thought he saw her smile. Just a little bit. “The gala starts at nine. We should arrive by nine-twenty. We don’t want to be unfashionably late.”
He’d take her to the Palace Arms. It would be the perfect accompaniment to the gala—a setting befitting Serena in a gown. “Ms. Chase,” he said, trying to use his normal business voice. It was harder to do in a towel than he would have expected. “Please make dinner reservations for two at the Palace Arms for seven. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”
Her eyes went wide again—like they had the day before when he’d informed her he was sending her to Neiman’s to get a dress. Like they had when he’d impulsively ordered all three dresses. Why was she so afraid of him spending his money as he saw fit? “But that’s...”
“That’s what I want,” he replied.
And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he let the towel slip. Just a little—not enough to flash her—but more than enough to make her notice.
And respond. No, she didn’t like it when he flashed his wealth around—but his body? His body appeared to be a different matter entirely. Her mouth dropped open into that “oh” again and then—God help him—her tongue flicked out and traced over her lips. He had to bite down to keep the groan from escaping.
“I’ll...I’ll go make those reservations, Mr. Beaumont,” she said breathlessly.
He couldn’t have kept the grin off his face if he tried. “Please do.”
Oh, yeah, he was going to take her out to dinner and she was going to wear one of those gowns and he would...
He would enjoy her company, he reminded himself. He did not expect anything other than that. This was not a quid pro quo situation where he bought her things and expected her to fall into bed out of obligation. Sex was not the same as a thank-you note.
Then she held up a small envelope. “A thank-you note. For the dresses.”
He almost burst out laughing, but he didn’t. He was too busy watching Serena. She took two steps toward the desk and laid the envelope on the top. She was close enough that, if he reached out, he could pull her back into his arms again, right where she’d been the night before.
Except he’d have to let go of the towel.
When had restraint gotten this hard? When had he suddenly had trouble controlling his urges? Hell, when was the last time he’d had an urge he had to control?
Years, really. Long, dry years in a loveless marriage while he ran a company. But Serena woke up something inside of him—and now that it was awake, Chadwick felt it making him wild and impulsive.
The tension in the room was so thick it was practically visible.
“Thank you, Ms. Chase.” He was trying to hide behind last names, like he’d done for years, but it wasn’t working. All his mouth could taste was her kiss.
“You have Larry coming in for his morning meeting.” She didn’t step back, but he saw the side-eye she was giving him. “Shall I reschedule him or do you think you can be dressed by then?”
This time, he didn’t bother to hold back his chuckle. “I suppose I can be dressed by then. Send him in when he gets here.”
She gave a curt nod with her head and, with one more glance at his bare chest, turned to leave.
He couldn’t help himself. “Serena?”
She paused at the door, but she didn’t look back. “Yes?”
“I...” He snapped off the part about how he wanted her. Even if it was the truth. “I’m looking forward to Saturday.”
She glanced back over her shoulder and gave him the same kind of smile she’d had when she’d been twirling in the gowns for him—warm, nervous and excited all at once. “Me, too.”
Then she left him alone in his office. Which was absolutely the correct thing to have done.
Saturday sure seemed like a hell of a long time off.
He hoped he could make it.
* * *
Serena made sure to knock for the rest of the week.
Not that she didn’t want to see Chadwick’s bare chest, the light hairs that covered his body glistening with water, his hair damp and tousled....
And certainly not because she’d been fantasizing about Chadwick walking in on her in the shower, leaning her back against the tiled wall, kissing her like he’d kissed her in the store, those kisses going lower and lower until she was blind with pleasure, then her returning the favor....
Right. She knocked extra hard on his door because it was the polite thing to do.
Thursday was busy. The fallout from the board meeting had to be dealt with, and the last-minute plans for the gala could not be ignored. Once Chadwick got his clothes on, she hardly had more than two minutes alone with him before the next meeting, the next phone call.
Friday was the same. They were in the office until almost seven, soothing the jittery nerves of employees worried about their jobs and investors worried about not getting a big enough payout.
She still hadn’t heard from Neil. She did manage to get a doctor’s appointment scheduled, but it wasn’t for another two weeks. If she hadn’t heard anything after that, she’d have to call him. That was all.
But she didn’t want to think about that. Instead, she thought about Saturday night.
She was not going to fall into bed with Chadwick. Above and beyond the fact that he was still her boss for the foreseeable future, there were too many problems. She was pregnant, for starters. She was still getting over the end of a nine-year relationship with Neil—and Chadwick wasn’t divorced quite yet. She didn’t want whatever was