The Ruthless Caleb Wilde

His three sisters were busy with their careers. Jake was a newlywed. Travis was—well, he was Travis. It would be a miracle if he ever settled on one woman, let alone decided to become a father.

Not that he, Caleb, had made any such decision. This thing had been an accident, but if he’d been looking for a woman, for one to have a child with, Sage would have been a good choice.

Maybe a perfect choice.

She was bright. Interesting. Brave. And she was fun. Well, fun when she wasn’t going toe-to-toe with him and arguing, but the truth was, he liked that about her.

Women never argued with him.

They pretty much agreed with whatever he said. His sisters teased him about it.

Must be nice to be king, Em had said, giggling, after she’d overheard one of his dates breathlessly assuring him that he was absolutely right about some political thing she’d probably never heard of until he’d mentioned it.

Added to all that, Sage was, well, she was beautiful.

Hair like sunlight. Eyes like the sea. Clichéd, but true. A rose-pink mouth that could curve into a smile or tremble with emotion, and that tasted indescribably sweet.

She was damn near shapeless within that T-shirt but he didn’t have to see her body to know it.

The rest of her, every inch, was emblazoned in his memory.

Her breasts. The delicacy of their weight in his palms. The pale pink of her nipples. The way they pebbled when he caressed them, and the taste of them against his tongue.

His gaze drifted lower.

She didn’t look pregnant, although … yes. He saw it now. That slight convexity to her belly beneath the shirt. How would that gentle roundness feel under his hand as he moved it down to the heat between her thighs …?

“Caleb?”

He looked up.

Did she know what he was thinking, what he was reliving, what he wanted now, had wanted all these past weeks?

Every muscle in his body came alive on one hot, sharp rush of sensation.

He stood up, walked to the window, jammed his hands into his trouser pockets and stood staring out at the ugly street while he fought for control.

This was not the time to get sidetracked.

She’d been in the john long enough for him to have come up with a plan, one he could easily implement.

For a couple of minutes, he’d considered not handling the details himself. A lawyer who represented himself had a fool for a client. That was what people said.

But this was straig

htforward. Simple. He couldn’t find much about it she would object to, and that was a plus. Besides, even if she objected, it was how things were going to be.

The law, and logic, were on his side.

He inhaled, hard. Exhaled the same way. Put on his courtroom face. Then he turned and found that she was on her feet, too. He frowned, jerked his head toward the chair.

“Sit down.”

Her eyebrows rose. He couldn’t blame her. He sounded like a drill sergeant.

“Sorry.” He forced a smile. “I only meant that we might as well be comfortable while we discuss our, ah, our—”

“Situation,” she said. “Isn’t that what you called it?”