The Baby Contract

He gave them a back the heck off glare, holding it until they looked away.

“It’s in Vegas’s car.”

“Why didn’t you get it? Or ask me to get it? Or ask Vegas to get it?”

“Are you done?”

His grip tightened on the open door. “Done what?”

“Criticizing me? Coddling me? Whatever it is you’re doing. Can we please get in now and start the engine, maybe warm up?”

He swore under his breath and shrugged out of his jacket.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she protested, backing away.

He swiftly wrapped his jacket around her, pulling her toward him.

“I’m one of the guys, remember?”

She was way too close to be one of the guys.

He zipped her in as if it were a straitjacket. “Get in.”

“Is that an order?”

The jacket was roomy enough that she wiggled her arms into the sleeves, pushing them up to reveal her hands.

“It’s an order,” he confirmed.

“Yes, sir.” She gave a mock salute and turned.

He impulsively patted her on the butt. Then he cringed, bracing himself for instant retaliation.

She froze, but didn’t hit him. “Are you suicidal?”

“I may be. Sorry,” he added.

“You can’t do that.”

“I know.” Then the joke all but leaped out of him. “It’s the skirt.”

She made an inarticulate moan of protest. “How can you be like that?”

“This is why women can’t work at Pinion.”

She shifted to face him. “Because you’ll manhandle them?”

“Because we don’t do politically correct.”

“Try, Troy. Summon some strength and try.” She plunked herself down on the passenger seat.

He slammed the door, cussing himself out as he rounded the SUV. What was the matter with him? Don’t touch her. It was one objective, one rule. How hard could that be?

It was five long minutes before she spoke.

“We need a name,” she said.

And he realized she hadn’t been sitting there stewing over his behavior.

She popped open her little purse. “We have his fingerprints.”

Troy glanced to her lap, and he couldn’t help a smile of admiration. “That’s why you dropped your purse?”

“That and to get his attention. Seriously, Troy. Is this not a hot outfit?”

“It’s a very hot outfit.”

He didn’t like to recall how hot it was. Because that made him hot. For her. And he didn’t dare let his mind go there.

“The man’s got a thing for Kassidy. I know you believe this is all about you, but I could have been a block of concrete for all he cared.”

“Or he’s focused on revenge. Guys like that don’t have normal reactions to anything.”

“I’m not being conceited,” she said.

“Who said you were?”

“It’s not that I think I’m super attractive. I get that I’m pretty plain.”

Troy would vehemently disagree with that statement.

“But men aren’t that picky,” she said.

“You’re not plain.”

She waved away the sentiment. “I have a sister who’s a bombshell. Trust me, I know the difference. My point is this Jack guy truly does have an obsession for Kassidy.”

“And my point is, you are incredibly hot in that outfit tonight. I can’t stop picturing it. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting—”

“Don’t.” Her voice was so soft, he barely heard it.

He jammed the brakes and swung the vehicle to the side of the road, putting it in Park and angling to face her. “I can’t control it.”

“You can.”

“Can you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re lying. You said I have a tell. Well, so do you. When you lie, your knees get tight.”

“That’s not true.” But she glanced to her knees.

“For most people, it’s in the face. You say it’s my left ear, and I believe you. So, tell me, Mila.” He turned his head to show the left side of his face. “Am I lying?”

He gave her a moment to focus. And he gave himself a moment to focus. His chest tightened up, and a part of his brain yelled at him to shut up. But he didn’t want to shut up. He had to say it out loud.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. And it’s not just sex.”

“No.”

“I know you want to be one of the guys. And I wish you could be one of the guys. But it isn’t going to happen. I can’t keep you, but I can’t bring myself to send you away.”

“Let me prove myself.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” He’d give anything to banish the knowledge, the sickening certainty that told him how this all ended.

“Then how does it work? Tell me how it works, and I’ll do it.”

“You want to know how it works?”

“Yes!”

“You die, that’s how it works.”

“Huh?” Her expression turned to complete confusion.

“Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But I send you into a situation, and you’re overpowered, and it all goes south, and you end up like Gabriela, in a body bag.”

“Gabriela?”

“No amount of skill...intellect...or conditioning can prepare you for the guy who’s six feet four and can bench-press a compact car.”

“Nobody can overpower everybody.”

“There’s a mathematical odds element.”

She seemed to frame her thoughts. “Who’s Gabriela?”

“A security agent. A former security agent.”

“Did she...?”

“She died.”

Mila put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was my fault.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

“You don’t know anything about it.” He gave into the urge to cover her hand with his.

“I know you.” Her gaze was penetrating and honest. “You know what you’re doing. You don’t take chances. You don’t make mistakes.”

He squeezed her hand. “Nobody’s perfect. I’ll mess up again. It’s only a matter of time. And I couldn’t stand it...” He couldn’t stand it if she was on the firing line when he did.

The street was dark. The car was dark. The glow of the dashboard reflected the smooth skin of her cheek. She was so close.

He reached out, stroked the pad of his thumb ever so gently against her cheek.

“Troy, don’t.” But her face tipped into the cup of his palm.

He slid forward. He kissed her mouth. His hand burrowed into her hair. The scent of her surrounded him, and she kissed him back.

He moved closer still. Their kisses grew longer and deeper. He unzipped his jacket, his hand going to her waist, finding its way between her skirt and her sweater.

“So soft,” he whispered as he touched her skin.

He kissed her cheek, her neck, the curve of her collarbone, pushing the sweater out of the way to kiss the tip of her shoulder.

“We can’t do this,” she told him in a strained voice even while she shrugged out of his jacket, moving closer, tugging his shirt from his waistband.

“We have to do this.”

He touched the hem of her sweater.

She hesitated, and he waited.

She lifted her arms. He eased the sweater off, then unhooked her bra. Her breasts came free in the dash light, creamy smooth, topped with deep coral nipples. He palmed one, and then the other.

She moaned, and he pulled her to him, smoothing the heated satin of her bare back. He made a tactile memory of her shoulder, her ear, her parted lips. She drew his finger into her hot mouth, and desire ricocheted along his limbs.

Cars zipped past them on the arterial road that led to Pinion, motors whining, headlights flashing off the glass.

He kissed her again, pressing her back against the padded seat. He touched her thighs, swirling upward to her silky panties. He longed to tear them off. He was hot and hard and impatient.

Instead, he eased past their barrier, drawing them away from her, slowly peeling them down, across her thighs, her knees, her calves and over her heels. He gazed at her bare breasts.

She cradled his head, drawing him down. He kissed one pert nipple. He pushed up her skirt, his fingers parting her, feeling her heat and moisture. His breaths were labored, a rapid pulse pounding in his temple.

“You okay with this?” He forced himself to ask.

“Good.” She gave a rapid nod. “Good.”

He flicked the button on his pants. There was a condom in his wallet, thank goodness. He found it. He pushed his clothes out of the way, and he settled her on his lap, her legs straddling his hips.

The heat of her around him was mind-blowing. He wanted it to last. But then she moved, and he was all but lost.

He gripped her hips, planning to hold her still. “You can’t.”