Brett couldn’t believe he’d offered her a job, but the thought of Laurel leaving Portland spurred him into action. The last time he’d been impulsive had been with her in Reno, but he had no other way to keep her in town. He couldn’t allow her to take his child away.
Her eyes widened. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.” He tried to figure out what she could do without causing trouble or getting in the way. “My assistant has been telling me she needs help.”
Laurel’s smile spread across her face. “You won’t be sorry.”
Brett hoped not. He only wondered what Danielle would say about getting her own assistant. Perhaps she would be so excited she wouldn’t demand a logical explanation, but knowing Danielle… “I’ll call my assistant tonight, so she can make arrangements for tomorrow.”
“I’ll be a great worker. You’ll see.” Laurel squeezed his hand, clearly excited, and a jolt of awareness shot through him. “Thank you.”
The warmth of her skin brought back memories of their night together. The way her hand lingered in his told Brett she might be remembering, too.
Pulling away was the smart thing to do, but he didn’t. Not surprising. Logic failed him whenever Laurel Worthington was around. Hiring her was a perfect example, one he would have to discuss with his attorneys. Despite the circumstances, he couldn’t deny his physical attraction to her. He couldn’t put his company at risk for a sexual harassment suit by the mother of his unborn child. Thinking about the possible headlines that could bring made him cringe.
Brett drew his hand away. “I only offered you the job. You won’t report directly to me, so you’ll have to prove your worth to keep it.”
“I’ll be MGI’s model employee.”
For all the confidence in her voice, she’d be lucky if she survived the probation period. At least he could keep an eye on her at the office. Make sure she and the baby were doing well.
“What’s my salary?” she asked.
Of course she would be interested in money. Her type always was. “You can discuss your salary with your new boss.”
She bit her lip, hesitancy and uncertainty warring on her face. “I don’t want to put you on the spot, but will I be paid more than minimum wage?”
Seriously? He reminded himself this would only be the second job she’d had. “Everyone at MGI earns more than minimum wage.”
“Great, because I need to be able to afford rent.”
He couldn’t imagine Laurel living on her own. Maybe he should reconsider what to pay her. That might convince her working didn’t make sense and she would be better off marrying him. An idea popped into his head. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
“I need to find a hotel. Nothing fancy. A motel will be fine.”
Nothing expensive was what she meant. He wondered how much cash she was carrying around in her bag. Not much if she was stashing bread in her pocket. “You can stay with me.”
“I—I don’t want to be in the way.”
A little late for that. “My mother fixed up the guest room. She stays there when she’s in town. Which isn’t often now that she’s retired to Palm Springs.”
“I don’t want to keep her—”
“She’s not planning to visit until Christmas.” He knew Laurel was searching for a polite excuse because she didn’t want to stay with him. Her behavior was consistent. “My mom got tired of the rain, so she moved to Southern California for the sunshine. The room is yours. For as long as you need it.”
“You make it sound as if I’ll be there forever.”
That’s the plan. Having Laurel stay with him was the first step in convincing her to marry him. Keeping her close was the second.
“I want to rent an apartment,” she added, chin tipped stubbornly.
Not. Going. To. Happen. “This will give you time to learn the various neighborhoods. That way, you can find the perfect place instead of just settling with anything.”
“Portland’s not that big.” She furrowed her perfectly arched brows as if she didn’t know whether to trust him.
Welcome to the club, Ms. Worthington.
“Do you live near your office?” she asked.
“It’s a short drive.”
“I need a place close to work since I don’t have a car.”
“We’ll carpool.”
“Together?”
“That’s how carpooling works.” Brett wanted to high five himself at his stroke of brilliance. Building his own business from nothing had taught him what success took—hard work and patience. The more time he spent with Laurel, the more he’d be able to show her the benefits of marrying him. At home, at work, in the car. Saying “I do” again was as good as done. “Ready to go home?”
♥ ♥ ♥
Home. The word conjured up different images—good and bad—in Laurel’s mind. Only the belt strapped across her chest and lap kept her from edging forward on her seat as Brett drove along Highway 43 to an area called Dunthorpe. An exclusive area given the large houses in the older established neighborhood, especially Henry Davenport’s estate, which Brett pointed out.
As he pulled into his driveway, Laurel’s heart pounded in her throat. The English-style manor had aged well, radiating warmth and family. The picture-perfect house belonged in a painting, with blooming flowers and towering trees in the yard, while gaslights illuminated the interior.
“I’ll get your suitcase,” he said.
Carrying her tote, Laurel started along the stone path to the entryway. With each step, she fell deeper in love with the delightful house. The carefully tended gardens reminded her of the yard she’d played in as a child. The memories of happier times—of the secure childhood she’d known as a young girl and as a teen—were bittersweet.
She hoped Brett’s house knew only happy days in the years to come. It was perfect for a child…a child who would only visit every other weekend and an occasional holiday based on whatever custody arrangement they ended up agreeing on.
The thought saddened her, but she shook off the feeling.
Laurel had a place to stay tonight. She should be relieved, not thinking about what might happen in the future. Being cared for by his house staff also sounded…nice.
As she stood on the porch waiting for Brett, a moth fluttered around the light. Was she getting too close to the flame herself? Working at his company was one thing, but staying with him and wanting to be pampered?
Laurel grimaced. Her days of being spoiled were over.
She shouldn’t be here. Not even for one night.
All she wanted was a job. Not a marriage proposal, not a place to stay, and not a ride to work every day. She definitely didn’t want her insides turning to melted butter with a touch of his hand.
Yet, that was happening.
Not once, but every single time.
Being around Brett short-circuited her mind, her nerve endings, and her heart. The feelings weren’t real; they couldn’t be more than leftover attraction from the time they’d shared in Reno. Except how did she explain her roller-coaster ride of emotion?
She wanted to laugh; she wanted to cry. Wanted to slap him. For some insane reason, she wanted to kiss him, too. It didn’t make sense.
Must be the hormones.
She hoped that was all it was.
Laurel couldn’t risk anything else. She’d made her choices in Reno. One last weekend, one last time to be—or rather pretend to be—an heiress, who could have whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. She’d wanted to hold on to the only life she’d known for a few days longer.
Meeting Brett had been a welcome surprise. She’d never experienced such intense feelings as she had when he’d kissed her during the wedding ceremony. It felt as if she’d won the lottery. She hadn’t thought of the consequences of their wedding night. The next day hadn’t entered her mind. Not really.
Oh, how things had changed.
With a baby growing inside her, she had to think of tomorrow and every day after that. Not only for her own sake, but for the little one she would be bringing into the world. The future mattered now.
Would the baby have her blue eyes or Brett’s brown ones? Boy or girl?
Laurel only hoped their baby—regardless of gender—got Brett’s money sense and his smile. She might not be thrilled with his personality, but his smile made her feel warm all over.
He carried her suitcase from his car, unlocked the front door, and opened it. A beep sounded. “That’s the alarm system. I’ll give you the security code.”
“I won’t be here that long,” she said a little too quickly. “I’ll look for an apartment tomorrow. After work, that is.”
“Wait until Saturday. We can make a day out of it.”
“We?” He’d suggested helping her get to know Portland, but Laurel had assumed he was only being polite.
“I’ll show you around. We can check out apartments, tour a few to compare. I’d still suggest memorizing the code here, though, unless you plan to spend all your time with me.”
Memorizing the code moved to the top of her to-do list.
He stepped inside, flipping a light switch as he did so. Laurel followed.
The wood floors in the foyer gleamed from the light of the chandelier above. A wide staircase with an elaborately carved balustrade led to the second floor. So lovely. The faint scent of lemon—wood polish, perhaps—lingered in the air.
She glanced to her right. The room was dark but also had beautiful floors and…
Oh, no. Panic flaring, she screamed. “Call the police.”
Brett dropped her suitcase with a thud, rushing to put his hand on her waist. “Are you in pain? Is it the baby?”
“No.” She choked on a sob. “You’ve been robbed. They took everything.”
Only a fireplace remained in the living room. Even the lamps were gone.
Tears welled in her eyes. She remembered standing inside her condominium, and her parents’ house, watching as item by item was sold to strangers, seeing piece after piece removed until only empty rooms and bare walls remained.
“Oh, Brett.” Leaning into him, she placed her hand over his, trying to give him what small amount of comfort she could. “I’m so sorry.”
He moved away. “Everything’s still here.”
“Everything?” Baffled, she glanced around at the empty space. “Your living room is empty.”
None of his muscles tensed. He didn’t blink. “I don’t have any furniture.”
She stepped into the cavernous room. Books were stacked against the far wall. “You’re kidding, right?”
Brett shrugged. “I haven’t gotten around to decorating yet.”
“I’m sorry, I thought…”
Staring at the living room, she imagined where the Christmas tree would go. Miniature blinking lights—colored, not all white—would show through the front window. An angel would grace the treetop. Greenery, candles, and bows on the wooden mantel with lighted porcelain village pieces and red velvet stockings. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla would fill the air, with a crackling fire as the finishing touch. The room would be the perfect place for a holiday gathering, or a family opening presents from Santa.
“I usually don’t have guests,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
She was one guest who needed to get out of here. The image of this room decked out for the holidays was too appealing. Laurel returned to the foyer. “How long have you lived here?”
“A year next month.”
To her left was an empty formal dining room. No table, no chairs, no sideboard, nothing except a beautiful chandelier and more stacks of books on the floor. She stared in disbelief.
Every detail on the exterior of the house had been cared for with such precision. No one seeing the outside would think the inside was empty. How could Brett live here, much less call this barren structure home?
“I had the floors refinished and the walls painted before I moved in. I’ve spoken with a couple of interior designers, but I haven’t had time to meet with them. One of these days, I will.”
The neglected interior not only contradicted the well-tended yard but also the thoughtful decor of his office. “What about the person who decorated MGI?”
“She’s known for her commercial designs.”
“So?” The bare, stark white walls here didn’t belong in a home. The house was a blank easel waiting for someone to brush the first stroke of color. “Anything has to be better than this.”
“My mother said the same thing, but I don’t use these rooms, so there’s no rush.”
Questions filled Laurel’s mind. Where did he sit? Eat? Was she going to be sleeping on the floor tonight? Brett Matthews was becoming more of a mystery to her.
“Not every room is empty.” He led her down a wide hallway to an open-concept kitchen and family room. On the far side was an immense stone fireplace with built-in bookcases on either side.
“See”—he gestured to a big-screen television, a leather recliner, and a matching couch—“furniture.”
Bachelor furniture, he meant.
Dull, dark, and all-too male.
This place needed a female’s touch. A potted ficus would fit perfectly in the corner. The spot over the mantel needed a painting or portrait. A small table and lamp against the wall, framed photos and other accessories for the built-in cabinets, and a nice rug to tie the decor together.
But this house wasn’t hers. Never would be. She needed to shut off that part of her brain.
“Looks comfortable.” Brett didn’t want her decorating opinion. The less she said about his home, the better.
“It is.” He pointed to a small alcove situated between the kitchen and the family room. A breakfast nook with a cherry maple table and four Windsor chairs was surrounded by oversized windows. “There’s the table.”
Yes, but what did he eat?
The state-of-the-art gourmet kitchen was immaculate. Either Brett was a neat freak, or he never cooked. She was tempted to open the excessively expensive commercial-grade refrigerator to see if there was any food inside. A domestic staff would have to work overtime to keep everything so spotless and shiny. “Very…nice.”
But very strange.
If she didn’t know better, Laurel would think no one lived here, given there were no piles of clutter, no pieces of memorabilia, and definitely no character. Oh, the house had architectural character out the wazoo—beams on the ceiling, intricate moldings, wood pane windows, hardwood floors, built-in shelves and cabinets with leaded-glass doors—but that wasn’t enough for such a beautiful old home.
The house cried out for tender loving care, yet Brett had turned a deaf ear. His neglect saddened and concerned her. Was he superficial—showy on the outside, but empty on the inside?
One thing was clear, though.
The interior of his house reaffirmed what her heart knew to be true—he didn’t want a family. Someone who lived like this wasn’t interested in having a home, let alone a wife or child. He was a workaholic who preferred the comfort of his office to that of his house. His misplaced sense of obligation was driving his marriage proposal, nothing else.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’m tired.” She was ready to have her bed turned down, so she could call it a night. “Is your staff still on duty?”
“I don’t have a staff, only a housekeeper who comes once a week.”
“I assumed…”
“I’m sure you did.” His steady gaze bore into her as if he could read her thoughts and dreams. “I’ll show you to your room.”
“Thank you.”
With his hand at her waist, he motioned her toward the foyer, where he stopped to pick up her suitcase. “Your room has a private bath. Everything you need should be in the cabinets or drawers, including towels and toiletries.”
As Laurel climbed the stairs, a wave of apprehension swept over her. No staff meant she’d be alone with Brett. She hadn’t expected that. Alaska was sounding more and more appealing.
Following him to the end of the hallway, she noticed the barren walls. No family photos or paintings that touched one’s heart to remind a person they were home.
Once again, she was struck by the difference between his empty mansion and his lovely office. Which was the real Brett Matthews?
“There’s a nice view of the Willamette from your room,” he said.
“The what?”
“The river that runs through Portland.”
“Oh.” When she entered the guest bedroom, she stopped short in amazement. It felt as if she’d stepped into another world, one exquisitely designed and magazine-layout perfect. The classic combination of deep magenta and mahogany suited the English architecture, unlike the starkness of the rest of his house. Pictures in gilt frames sat on the dresser. One of a young boy and a woman—Brett and his mother? Another of Brett in a graduation cap and gown.
“Make yourself at home. The dresser drawers are empty.” He opened the closet door. “I’ll get more hangers after you send for the rest of your things.”
“This is all I have.” Saying that left a sour taste in her mouth, like a fine wine turned to vinegar.
“When you said they were your only assets…” He appeared more embarrassed than her.
No sense lying. “I’m happy to have a few things left at all.”
She glanced around the room, not wanting to explain further. Selling the majority of her wardrobe and accessories at a consignment store had been the right decision. She’d needed the money more than she needed designer labels that wouldn’t fit for much longer.
A crystal bowl filled with fragrant potpourri sat on the nightstand. She inhaled. “Your mother did a lovely job decorating the room.”
“My mom enjoyed doing it.” His face lit up, telling Laurel his mother meant a lot to him. “I told her to do whatever she desired. I wanted her to create a home away from home for herself.”
“You should ask her to do the rest of the house.” The scrutiny of his gaze made Laurel self-conscious. Keeping her mouth shut would be the smartest move.
“If you need anything, I’m next door.” He backed toward the doorway. “Good night.”
“‘Night.”
As soon as he closed the door behind him, Laurel plopped onto the bed, exhausted, dirty, and confused. A weight pressed down on her chest. Tears stung her eyes.
She blinked them away. She’d come too far to break down and cry.
She rubbed her belly, seeking the reassurance touching her baby usually provided. “Sleep well, my little one. I have a feeling this is only the beginning.”
The realization worried her.
Nothing was turning out like she’d expected.
Especially not Brett.
Laurel had been fantasizing about the attractive man she’d met and married in Reno, the one who’d given her the sweetest wedding gift—a snow globe with two doves inside.
Had that been an act? A pretend, attentive groom to go along with the joke of a wedding?
So many questions, too few answers.
Laurel kicked off her shoes. Pointing her toes, she sighed as her feet luxuriated in the freedom.
A shower would allow her to scrub away the grime and whatever else was clinging to her. She would get a good night’s sleep and then be ready for work come sunrise.
Starting a new job would wipe her slate clean. Tomorrow would be the first day of the rest of her life. She couldn’t wait.
♥ ♥ ♥
The next morning, Brett knocked lightly on Laurel’s bedroom door. No reply. He didn’t hear any movement inside. Either she was sleeping, or she was in the bathroom getting ready.
He hoped she was asleep. Waking her up before roosters blinked and the sun rose would be a perfect way to start her day. His, too.
Imagining what her reaction would be, Brett grinned. He would have to be careful not to look too happy at her discomfort, but he couldn’t wait to see her squirm.
Today was the start of his get-Laurel-to-marry-him campaign. He’d spent half the night planning his strategy. She’d thrown him a curve by declining his marriage offer, but if making a name for himself in the crazy world of financial investments had taught Brett anything, it was how to regroup.
His first step—showing her that working for a living was difficult. Incredibly early mornings and ten-hour-plus days would allow her to see that marriage was not only the better option but also the only one. Nothing he did would affect her health or the baby’s. She might find herself more tired than usual and wanting to sleep in, nap, or go to bed early. Searching for an apartment would be draining. Doing anything physical would be taxing. And the entire time, he would be by her side to feed her, to listen to her, and to comfort her.
Yes, this was the perfect plan.
If he played his cards right, she’d quit by this time next week. Brett rubbed his hands together gleefully, having no doubt he’d easily get what he wanted.
He placed his ear on the door. No movement inside. Definitely asleep.
Brett knocked louder.
Still nothing.
He turned the knob and then pushed open the door. At least she hadn’t locked it. That had to be a good sign. Maybe she would say “yes” sooner than he thought.
“Laurel?” he called softly.
The even rise and fall of her chest told him she was asleep. He crept toward the bed. She’d kicked off the covers, lying curled on her left side. Good, that was the position the pregnancy books recommended. One of those body pillows he’d read about might make her more comfortable. A blanket covering her would be good, too.
Her oversized pink nightshirt skimmed the top of her thighs. He shouldn’t look, but his gaze kept returning to her. At some point last night, she’d washed away the dirt from her bus journey, leaving behind the beautiful woman who’d haunted his dreams these past months.
His heart rate quickened. This was the woman he would spend the rest of his life—or at least the next eighteen years—with, the mother of his child.
He ran his gaze from her shapely legs to her slightly rounded stomach. Not much of a difference from the flat tummy he’d touched and trailed kisses along in Reno.
But there was one difference now.
His baby was in there.
Fingers itching, he touched her belly—well, the shirt covering it—before he realized what he was doing.
Laurel blinked open her eyes. He jerked his hand away before she had the chance to focus.
She yawned. “Brett?”
His face heated, even though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d blushed. “Good morning.”
She bolted upright. “I set the alarm for six o’clock. Oh, no. I must have slept right through it. I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t sleep through the alarm.”
“Then why…” She glanced at the east-facing window. The beginnings of dawn crept around the edges of the curtains and blinds. “What time is it?”
“Four-thirty.”
Her eyes widened. “In the morning?”
Her look of utter horror made him smile. Good. Her reaction was what he’d wanted. “I like to be at the office before the market opens. Is that a problem?”
“I…no.” She rubbed her eyes. “You’re dressed.”
“You were tired last night, so I let you sleep in.”
“How thoughtful,” she murmured. Brett could almost hear the eye-roll she probably wished to give him in her voice. She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. Another minute flashed by. “What time do we need to leave?”
“Half an hour, forty-five minutes. We can pick up breakfast on the way.” He waited for an outcry. He didn’t get one. Maybe tomorrow. “If you need more time—”
“I’ll be ready.”
Such certainty, but the way she blinked as if trying to force her eyes wider open suggested she was struggling. “I’ll be in the family room.”
“See you in a few minutes.”
Yeah, right. More like sixty. Women like Laurel took at least an hour to get ready. He only hoped they weren’t too late this morning.
Brett headed downstairs to make use of the time while waiting. He grabbed the remote control, clicked on CNBC, and sat in his recliner. He opened his laptop and logged on to MGI’s server. Time to slog through his e-mail.
“I’m ready.” Laurel’s voice floated toward him. “If you need more time…”
Shocked, he checked his watch. No way. She’d gotten ready in less than fifteen minutes. “No, I’m logging off.”
As Brett raised his head, his breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t speak; he couldn’t think. She was…beautiful. His pulse climbed faster than an IPO of stock.
A black skirt fell just above her knees. A short-sleeved black shirt covered her stomach but stopped short of her hips. A scarf added a splash of color. She’d piled her hair on top of her head and then clipped it somehow. No bad-hair days for Laurel Worthington.
“Something wrong?” Meeting his gaze, she nervously smoothed her skirt. “My wardrobe is limited due to my expanding waistline.”
“You look fine. Good. Great.”
“Thank you.” The corners of her mouth curved up slightly. “So, are you ready?”
More than ready, Brett realized with a start. Ready to forget today was a workday and he needed to go to the office. Ready to remove the clip from her hair to watch the silky strands tumble around his hands. Ready to carry her upstairs to his bedroom.
Forget about not liking her, not respecting her, and not trusting her.
He wanted her—wanted her badly.
Brett shut his laptop, the screen snapping against the monitor. What in the world had he gotten himself into?