“We get married and raise the baby together.”
To his chagrin, Jenna laughed. Not just laughed but snorted and snuffled with it, as if she couldn’t contain her mirth at all.
“It’s not so impossible to think of, is it?” he demanded.
“Impossible? It’s ridiculous, Dylan. We barely even know one another.”
He nodded in agreement. “True. That’s something easily rectified.”
All humor fled from her face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Never more so.”
“No. It would never work. Not in a million years.”
“Why not? We already know we’re—” he paused a moment for effect, his eyes skimming her face, her throat and lower “—compatible.”
“Great sex isn’t the sole basis for a compatible marriage,” she protested.
“It’s a start,” he said, his voice deepening.
* * *
Expecting the CEO’s Child
is a Dynasties: The Lassiters novel—A Wyoming
legacy of love, lies and redemption!
Expecting the CEO’s Child
Yvonne Lindsay
New Zealand born, to Dutch immigrant parents, YVONNE LINDSAY became an avid romance reader at the age of thirteen. Now, married to her “blind date” and with two fabulous children, she remains a firm believer in the power of romance. Yvonne feels privileged to be able to bring to her readers the stories of her heart. In her spare time, when not writing, she can be found with her nose firmly in a book, reliving the power of love in all walks of life. She can be contacted via her website, www.yvonnelindsay.com.
To my dear friend Rose-Marie, who has known me since we were both teenagers—thank you for always being my friend and an especial thank you for calling florists in Wyoming for me! :) I owe you, Smithy!
Contents
One
Jenna puzzled over the complex wreath design a family had requested for their grandmother’s funeral the coming Wednesday. She just about had it nailed; all she needed to confirm with the wholesale suppliers was that she’d be able to get the right shade of lilacs that had been the grandmother’s favorite.
The sound of the door buzzer alerted her to a customer out front. She listened to see if her new Saturday part-time assistant would attend to the client, but the subsequent ding of the counter bell told her that Millie was likely in the cool room out back, or, unfortunately more likely, outside on the phone to her boyfriend again.
Making a mental note to discuss with the girl the importance of actually working during work hours, Jenna pushed herself up from her desk, pasted a smile on her face and walked out into the showroom. Only to feel the smile freeze in place as she recognized Dylan Lassiter, in all his decadent glory, standing with his back to her, his attention apparently captured by the ready-made bouquets she kept in the refrigerated unit along one wall.
Her reaction was instantaneous; heat, desire and shock flooded her in turn. The last time she’d seen him had been in the coat closet where they’d impulsively sought refuge—to release the sexual energy that had ignited so dangerously and suddenly between them. They’d struck sparks off one another so bright and so fierce it had almost been a relief when he’d returned to his base in Los Angeles. Almost.
Jenna fought the urge to place a hand protectively across her belly—to hide the evidence of that uncharacteristic and spontaneous act. She’d known from the day her pregnancy was confirmed that she’d have to tell him at some stage. She hadn’t planned for it to be right now. At first she’d been a little piqued that he’d made no effort to contact her since that one incredible encounter. She had half understood he’d been too busy to call her in the aftermath of his father’s sudden death during Dylan’s sister’s wedding rehearsal dinner. But afterward? When everything had begun to settle down again?
She gave herself a mental shake. No, she’d successfully convinced herself that she didn’t need or want the complication of a relationship. Especially not now and especially not with someone as high profile as Dylan Lassiter. Not after all the years of work she’d put into rebuilding her reputation. She’d made a conscious choice to put off contacting him, too, and despite the slight wound to her feminine ego that he’d obviously done the same, she would just have to get over it because she sure as heck had plenty else to keep her mind occupied now.
“Can I help you?” she said, feigning a lack of recognition right up until the moment he turned around and impaled her with those cerulean-blue eyes of his.
Air fled from her lungs and her throat closed up. A perfectly tailored blue-gray suit emphasized the width of his shoulders, while his white shirt and pale blue tie emphasized the California tan that warmed his skin. Her mouth dried. It was a crime against nature that any man could look so beautiful and so masculine at the same time.
A hank of softly curling hair fell across his high forehead, making her hand itch to smooth it back, then trace the stubbled line of his jaw. She clenched her fingers into a tight fist, embedding her nails in her palms as she reminded herself exactly where such an action would inevitably lead.
He was like a drug to her. An instant high that, once taken, created a craving