A Baby for the Boss

But I have no idea how to be around the opposite sex.

Whatsoever.

Why am I doing this?

I should just stay up in my air-conditioned office where it’s safe.

Too late for that, though. I’m almost at the bottom level.

Hurriedly, I check my appearance in the stainless steel doors of the elevator, tucking my long, black hair behind my ears and smoothing the wrinkles from my skirt. As usual, I look like a child playing dress-up in adult clothes. Maybe I should have put on my matching black blazer to appear more professional, but it’s far too hot. My silky off-white tank top will have to do. I’m tucking it a little more securely into the waistband of my skirt as the doors fly open with a bang.

Everyone on the warehouse floor turns to look at me at once.

They are all men. Mostly. A few women are operating the heavy machinery, using forklifts to bring boxes down from the endless, towering shelves. But on the floor itself are men in jumpsuits. Strong men. But none are stronger than the one without the shirt—and his deep, hearty laugh reaches me now, making me feel winded. My knees wobbly.

I step out of the elevator, school my features to appear bored and step out onto the concrete, sailing through gaping rows of warehouse workers. They murmur among themselves as I pass, probably speculating on whether or not I need a booster seat at restaurants. Up ahead, the man without a shirt tosses a box onto the bed of a truck, turns—

And stops dead, his laughter trailing off.

My breaths are deafening echoes in my ears.

I experience the same inundation of heat in my tummy as I did in my office, but this time it’s multiplied by ten on the intensity scale. The sweat pouring down his hairy, muscular torso is drying up my mouth and making my breasts feel swollen.

Does my body want to have sex with him?

Sex is the one thing I know nothing about.

One time when I was nine, I walked in on my tutor and my father’s limousine driver. They were on the couch in our den, writhing furiously with their pants down, grunting and scratching each other. He even had his hand around her throat, choking her. What’s more, she seemed to enjoy the cutting off of oxygen. To me, it only seemed like a violent act.

Since then, I’ve been too nervous to read about physical intimacy.

But my body seems to have other ideas when it comes to this man.

Just this one.

“That’s the boss,” someone murmurs—making one of the giant’s eyebrows arch.

And he’s coming toward me now. Sauntering. Cocky. His big, thick muscles flex in the sunlight, caked in grime and sweat. Good God, the man must be six foot six.

“You lost, boss?” he asks, pulling a bandana from his back pocket and wiping his—unconventionally attractive—face. His features make him look sort of mean. Battle worn. There’s a slightly crooked nose and black stubble covering his jaw. His blue eyes are warm, however. Or…hot, I should say. Which makes him look less mean and more…fascinated.

By me?

No.

Probably just the fact that I’m down here in packing and shipping, instead of in my expensive office where I belong.

“Of course I’m not lost.” I clasp my hands neatly at my waist, the attention of everyone in earshot burning holes in my back. “I was raised at this facility, Mister…”

For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer. Then, finally, “Langley. Turk Langley.”

The depth of his voice makes me shiver. It’s like the roar of a powerful engine. The reverberation of it courses all the way down to my feet, making the ground unsteady.

Focus. Remember why you’re down here.

Or at least, the reason you gave yourself.

“Mr. Langley, I wondered if I might have a private word with you?”

An amused chorus of oooohs goes up behind me and I flush pink.

There’s laughter in his blue eyes. “Am I in trouble, boss?”

“Not yet.”

The oooohs get louder.

Turk swaggers toward me, his folded over jumpsuit riding low on his hips. In a way that makes it impossible not to trace the deep-cut V that points dangerously downward. “I beg to differ,” drawls the man near my ear, his breath slipping down my neck and rustling the strap of my silk tank top. “I’d say I’m in very big trouble, boss.”

That goes for me, too.

Because suddenly, I’m wondering if it wouldn’t hurt to conceive this baby the good old-fashioned way. Just so I can have the experience of being with a man once, before my life becomes all about my child. Who knows if I’ll ever feel this pull of attraction again?

Shouldn’t I take advantage of it?

Kill two birds with one stone?

Two

Turk

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

I’ve only been working at this facility for a week, but this is my first time seeing my boss in the flesh. I’ve heard talk about the young woman who isn’t even old enough to drink running the multi-million-dollar operation. Everyone speculates on the prodigy who graduated college at seventeen and lives in a big mansion by herself now, at twenty.