Chapter 7

Nick is staring at me in such a way that I’m convinced he can see straight into my soul.

It remains a deep, penetrating gaze that makes it difficult for me to breathe, because it’s so captivating. He is incredibly, hypnotically intense. A mesmeric force.

And I’m…

Drowning.

In his glimmering grey-green eyes. In the heat and the power that radiates from him. In the scent of him that constantly holds me hostage every time he’s close enough for me to inhale the dark, masculine fragrance.

My stomach knots with concern over what the hell I’m getting myself into—and I’m not just thinking of the “baby deal.” I’m thinking of the entanglement with this man that isn’t supposed to happen, but it is happening.

I consider the movie reference again, and how confident Richard Gere’s character was that he could stay emotionally, romantically detached for the week he spent with his “hired help.”

I have no clue how Nick Angelini feels about this, but I suspect he’s supremely confident, as well.

I also believe he’ll be able to pull it off. He seems like the type who can easily compartmentalize.

I, on the other hand…

Oh, I…

I’m already in over my head, don’t we all know it?

He’s tugged me toward him so that all I have to do is lean into him and my body will brush his. I suddenly obsess over the nearness of him—and his potential responses to me.

Will his skin ignite the way mine instantly did—with just his hand on my arm, his warm and strong fingers gently curling into my biceps before he so tenderly cupped my face with his hands in order to make his point? 

Will his breath catch in his throat? Will his eyelids dip? Will his gaze fall to my lips?

As I’m contemplating all of this, my inner thighs are burning and, higher up, my clit is tingling.

He does things to me. Without doing anything at all.

And now he’s telling me he wants to know everything about me.

And I’m pretty damn sure there is no way in hell I can allow that.

It’s humiliating enough that he knows the secrets of my past.

But what about those of my present?

Granted, I’m sure he’s already discerned where I live these days—and trust me when I say, it’s no great shakes. In fact, it’s basically a shanty, just with sturdier walls and a non-leaking roof. For now.

I’m guessing his private investigator has also looked into my banking account balance as well as my credit card and student loan debt. Nick did peg me as a viable candidate for his proposal, after all, and I’m sure he factored in my rather destitute financial situation—and further found it to his benefit and advantage to learn I’m desperate to make the crab shack my own, so I can effect positive changes, build a better career for myself and other employees. And offer something worthwhile to a small coastal community.  

Beyond all that, my more immediately embarrassing scenario is that I feel the ripples of desire through my body as Nick continues to gaze at me.

Translation: Nick is likely feeling the ripples of desire through my body as he continues to gaze at me. He has to know he’s inciting the shivers cascading along my spine.

Sure enough, his hands fall away.

He steps away.

I would love to say that, in this very moment, I recover fully. I come back to myself, completely. All my bodily reactions to him stabilize and return to normal.

None of this occurs.

Rather… I experience the overwhelming need to take those few strides toward him that will close the newly formed gap between us.

He murmurs, “I told you this would be invasive.”

I want to say I can handle it.

Instead, I swallow down a lump of emotion.

He frowns. “I’m not judging you, Bailey. I mean… I am.” He shakes his head and lets out a low groan.

Unfortunately for me, that particular sound is sexy as hell.

I should walk away. I should just march back into that castle-worthy suite and dressing room, change into my uniform, and demand someone take me home.

I should.

But I don’t.

From somewhere deep inside of me come the words, “I understand. Of course, you have requirements and standards that must be met. This is a royal baby you want. You’re going to be thorough and you’re going to be hypercritical of who’s carrying your child.”

Unexpectedly, he moves in on me again.

His hand raises and his crooked finger carefully catches under my chin, lifting it slightly. Enough so that we’re staring each other in the eyes again.

Once more, I’m drowning.

For the love of God, I have got to get over how entrancing he is!

His frown fades. But he’s still quite serious, quite rigid, as he asks, “You’re thinking by ‘surrogate’ I only mean that you’ll be a part of assisted reproductive technology. Yes?”

“In vitro, I presume. Someone’s egg. Your sperm. My uterus.”

“Perhaps your egg…” He cautiously says.

“So I’ll need fertility tests.”

“Yes.”

“And then we petri dish it all together, correct? I’m no expert on this sort of thing. Just guessing here.”

“Hmm.”

Now the corners of his mouth twitch to curve upward, as though he’s fighting a grin. His eyes even glow.

“That was certainly a possibility I considered,” he tells me. Then his gaze drops to my lips, briefly. My breath sticks in my throat. And he says, “But I prefer the old-fashioned method of conception.”

“I-I’m sorry?” I suddenly stammer as my heart slams against my ribs and my eyes nearly pop from their sockets. “I’m confused. I thought—”

“Do you object?” he quietly asks, his gaze still holding me enrapt.

“I—”

I… What?

I don’t fucking know how to answer this question. I’d previously considered the surgical device means of insemination and IVF, when all I’d really wanted was ‘the old-fashioned method’—with this man.

And now?

Now?

He’s the one making the grand suggestion!

“Bailey,” he taunts me, tempts me, with his heated gaze and his commanding presence. “You, me, and a very large bed. Do you object?”

“I—”

Holy hell, what am I to say to this?

Me and this incredibly hot man having sex together? As many times as it takes for me to conceive???

Oh. God!

Why can’t I speak??!!

“Bailey?” Nick’s brow jumps. Almost comically.

Because, surely, he knows the prospect of getting naked with him isn’t the least bit unappealing to me.

I mentally hit the heel of my hand to my forehead to jolt me from my entire stall out.

I confess, “I guess I just had ‘baby carrier’ in my mind—you know, as in you only wanted to rent my uterus. I was thinking we’d do this the scientific way.”

“That was my original plan when I first considered a donor situation,” he explains. “I didn’t find the perfect match to contribute to the cause. Then I saw you and… It all clicked into place. You are the complete package, Bailey Storm.”

“I’m not sure what that means,” I admit.

“You’re stunning… You know that, right?” His expression turns quizzical, and he moves on fast enough that his question becomes rhetorical. “Naturally, I started to think of the attributes you could potentially pass on to a child. The silky blonde hair. The honeyed skin. The deep blue eyes. The honors-worthy brain.” He grins. I’m captivated.

And a little dizzy from lack of oxygen. He knows how to take away one breath after another of mine—has it down pat, in fact.

His fingers tenderly curve into my forearm once again and he coaxes me closer to him. I inhale his intoxicating scent and my gaze skims over the thick cords of his neck, up to his sculpted face and the lush, dark hair I itch to bury my fingers in.

I suddenly crave to see him naked and to feel his skin against mine. To have his body covering mine and pressing me into a mattress with his weight as our legs tangle and he sinks into me. As we move together and he penetrates deeper, pumps slowly, while we gaze into each other’s eyes.

My nipples instantly tighten at the visual I conjure and there’s a sinfully delicious tingle along my clit.

All I can think is…

If Nick Angelini wants me, Nick Angelini can have me.

Right here. Right now.

Hell, I almost ask for the pen so I can sign his documents this very second.

Except, I warn myself to proceed with caution.

His gaze is on my mouth again and I wonder if his thoughts have gone the way of mine, if he’s imagining me doing naughty things to him. I wonder if he’s envisioning us doing so much more than just the perfunctory act that would get me pregnant.

Is he contemplating dirty foreplay and multiple orgasms?

I pray so.

“Sooo, what are your thoughts on all of this, Bailey?” he casually, though also with a subtle insistency, muses as he breaks into my errant and erotic ruminations.

“Um…”

My “honor-worthy brain” is doing odd somersaults. My thoughts can’t quite compete with every nerve ending igniting within me.

I swallow down the lump of lust in my throat.

He’s in need of yet another honest answer from me.

Despite the sensuality of the moment and what he’s further proposing, this is—for all intents and purposes on both our sides—a business transaction. I must remember that. Difficult though it is.

This is the equivalent of a negotiation.

And this particular “attached string” is making my toes curl.

I tell him, “I still need to read the contract. I need to know if there are any other terms. But thus far…”

My voice trails off, because I’m sounding much too breathy and with a take me now! tinge to my tone, that is likely accompanied by a pleading in my eyes for him to do exactly that.

If he’s not seeing or hearing these things, he’s for sure sensing them.

“Why don’t we test the waters,” he suggests.

And before I can ask what he has in mind, his lips brush over mine—jolting me straight to the core.

His arm immediately slips around my waist, to steady me. And to seal my body to his.

He engages me in slow, seductive kisses that are tongueless—mostly flirty twisting and tangling of lips. All purposely teasing. Nothing threatening or assuming. As though he doesn’t want to overwhelm me.

But then his fingers thread through my plump curls while his other hand flattens against the small of my back, holding me in place. And that intensifies everything.

I grip his biceps. Firmly. His muscles are rock hard, and I am now dying to rip apart the material at his chest, making all the buttons on his dress shirt fly. Somehow, I resist the reckless abandonment and remain focused on the seductive kisses.

Which are so amazingly sexy. Too sexy.

Restlessness consumes me and I’m infinitely relieved when he gives up on the taunting—the testing of waters—and he entices my lips apart and his tongue slips inside to glide over mine.

Suddenly, it’s a deep, hot, wet, blistering, never-ending kiss.

And I am completely lost.

I can’t be bothered to think of Grayson being here somewhere, or a contract I haven’t perused, or…anything at all.

Like, nothing exists.

Just this kiss.

And the feel of Nick’s powerful body as mine melds to it, my softer curves finding all the right spaces to conform to his rigid build.

The searing kiss goes on and on. We experiment with different angles. His tongue applies a little more pressure, tantalizingly toying with me. The restlessness increases, burning through me, until I’m thinking there’s no way in hell we’re finishing this multi-course meal tonight.

His previous question blazes in the back of my brain: You, me, and a very large bed. Do you object?

Oh. Hell. No.

No objection here.

In fact, I break the kiss—before I pass out—and open my mouth to say…