Expecting at Christmas
Expecting at Christmas
Charlotte Maclay
IN THE FAMILY WAY…When lovely Loretta Santana signed on as Griffin Jones's temporary butler, the wealthy playboy discovered he suddenly had a few unexpected problems. One: his petite new butler was a she. Two: she was pregnant. Three: she was eight months pregnant and soon to be a single mom….All Loretta had wanted was to earn a month's fair wages before her Christmas delivery arrived–until she fell for her debonair employer's considerable charms. And it didn't help that the wedding-wary bachelor's protective instincts lurched into overdrive–but could Loretta convince the acting daddy-to-be to take on that role for a lifetime?
Loretta’s hand clasped her midsection, her eyes wide. (#ub101bdd7-d5b2-5bf8-a6c1-65ebb547290f)Letter to Reader (#u5e972c6a-80a7-5d22-adc7-46a6aa833032)Title Page (#ua72415e0-ab55-5ea7-9a90-bce338435fa8)Dedication (#u065b0f55-eb6a-5284-ad3d-c20d40360577)About the Author (#ub21f5c1c-74d4-5a7a-9b16-c0c188745ce9)Chapter One (#uf16233ed-6cb5-5975-9969-ed8f5ac961ec)Chapter Two (#u5a46a049-eb8b-5b7a-b4b9-1f0583673921)Chapter Three (#u68b54663-384a-5289-9bde-8d98e6dcc467)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Loretta’s hand clasped her midsection, her eyes wide.
Panic whipped through Griffin. “Are you having the baby?”
Shaking her head, Loretta took Griffin’s hand and planted it on her swollen belly. “She—or he—just kicked me. Here, feel.”
The heat of her body scorched his hand. He wanted to pull back, but she held him there. And then the baby kicked.
To actually feel the movement, to imagine a tiny foot pressing against his hand, touched him in a way he certainly hadn’t expected. An odd lump formed in his throat. He gazed into Loretta’s liquid-brown eyes, and they wouldn’t let him go. At some gut level, Griffin wanted to pledge he’d be there to take care of this baby, but he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t a family man.
With a force of will, he broke the connection between them and stepped back. He was not going to get involved with this woman or her baby.
Except that he already was....
Dear Reader,
The end of the century is near, and we’re all eagerly anticipating the wonders to come. But no matter what happens, I believe that everyone will continue to need and to seek the unquenchable spirit of love...of romance. And here at Silhouette Romance, we’re delighted to present another month’s worth of terrific, emotional stories.
This month, RITA Award-winning author Marie Ferrarella offers a tender BUNDLES OF JOY tale, in which The Baby Beneath the Mistletoe brings together a man who’s lost his faith and a woman who challenges him to take a chance at love...and family. In Charlotte Maclay’s charming new novel, a millionaire playboy isn’t sure what he was Expecting at Christmas, but what he gets is a very pregnant butler! Elizabeth Harbison launches her wonderful new theme-based miniseries, CINDERELLA BRIDES, with the fairy-tale romance—complete with mistaken identity!—between Emma and the Earl.
In A Diamond for Kate by Moyra Tarling, discover whether a doctor makes his devoted nurse his devoted wife after learning about her past... Patricia Thayer’s cross-line miniseries WITH THESE RINGS returns to Romance and poses the question: Can The Man, the Ring the Wedding end a fifty-year-old curse? You’ll have to read this dramatic story to find out! And though The Millionaire’s Proposition involves making a baby in Natalie Patrick’s upbeat Romance, can a down-on-her-luck waitress also convince him to make beautiful memories...as man and wife?
Enjoy this month’s offering, and look forward to a new century of timeless, traditional tales guaranteed to touch your heart!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Expecting at Christmas
Charlotte Maclay
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my great-nephew—wear your name proudly!
CHARLOTTE MACLAY
has always enjoyed putting words on paper. Until recently, most of these words have been nonfiction, including a weekly newspaper column, which has recruited nearly twenty thousand volunteers in the past twenty years for some four hundred different local nonprofit organizations.
When she is not urging people to get involved in their community, Charlotte divides her time among writing, volunteering for her favorite organizations (including Orange County Chapter of Romance Writers of America), trying not to mother two married daughters and sharing her life in Southern California with her own special hero, Chuck.
Dear Santa,
It’s been a long time since I’ve written a list to you, but this year, maybe because the baby will be here soon and it will be his or her first Christmas, there are a few things I would wish for to make this holiday just perfect.
1) For my brother Roberto, a new tow truck for his business
2) My brother Marco could sure use some new pizza pans to replace the banged-up ones he uses at his restaurant
3) Nothing pleases dear Aunt Louisa more than skeins of tatting yam, so I’d wish for a basket of yarn for her that magically would never get empty
4) Now I know my cousin Brenna would love a mini second honeymoon with her husband....
5) And as for me, I don’t want much for Christmas—but with all my heart I wish for a healthy baby with ten fingers, ten toes and an adorable smile. That would do me just fine.
Of course, if I were being totally honest, I’d want a daddy for my baby—and a husband for me. But I don’t suppose I’d ever find one in your pack. Still, there’s no harm in asking....
Merry Christmas.
Love,
Loretta Santana
Chapter One
Getting a job was always difficult. Landing one when you were eight months pregnant counted as a miracle.
Loretta Santana smoothed her hair back as she heard her new employer’s car cross the narrow wooden bridge at the bottom of Topanga Canyon Road and navigate the circular drive in front of his house.
She’d never actually been a butler before, though she’d taken an accelerated class at the Westside Butler Academy just last week in order to qualify for this position. And, true, her black suit, which she wore with a neat little bow tie, might have been a bit odd to order in a maternity size. But she was determined she’d keep this job until she became eligible for insurance benefits with the temporary agency that had hired her. She only needed one hundred and twenty more hours to her credit—three weeks—and she could sign up. Her baby wasn’t due for another four weeks and one day, the week after Christmas.
Instinctively she slid her hand across her distended belly. Both she and Isabella’s baby would need the medical benefits.
Anxiety had her gnawing at her lower lip as she opened the front door, standing back so Griffin Jones wouldn’t get a full-length look at her right off. Her nerves were certainly frazzled. When she got past this hurdle, she’d have to take a megadose of vitamin E to stabilize her ions and get her yin and yang back in balance.
With the easy strides of an athlete, Griffin mounted the steps two at a time. His suit jacket hung open and his power tie was loose around his collar. He came to an abrupt halt at the front door.
“Well, well, well,” he drawled. A wicked smile curled amazingly sensual lips. “What have we got here?”
“Loretta Santana, sir. Your temporary butler.”
He glanced past her into the rustic entry with its warm wood paneling and subdued lighting. “What did you do with Rodgers, sweetheart?”
“I believe he’s en route to London, sir.”
“Oh, I forgot that he had some sort of a family crisis back home.” Frowning, he cocked his head to the right, causing a lock of tobacco-brown hair to slide across his forehead at a rakish angle. “And you’re somebody’s idea of a joke butler?”
She flushed. “No, sir. I’m fully qualified to—”
“I’ll just bet you are.” He stepped across the threshold, his gaze raking over her with swift, masculine interest until it landed right smack on her midsection. “My God, you’re pregnant!” He choked and began coughing.
“Oh, you poor thing. You must have a terrible cold.” Automatically she placed the back of her hand to his forehead. “A fever, too. You’d better come inside. I’ll brew you a nice herbal toddy and give you some of my rejuvenative hydration pills. You’ll be right as rain in no time, sir.” Hooking her arm through his, Loretta tried to hustle him toward the master bedroom where he could get the rest he obviously needed—and forget he had a pregnant butler working for him. “Winter colds can be so dreadful. Would you like me to draw a nice hot bath for you, sir? Or can you manage for yourself?”
He put on the brakes. “I don’t have a cold, just a little sore throat, and I don’t appreciate my buddies playing a practical joke on me. They know damn well I wouldn’t sleep with a pregnant woman.”
Shock drove her back against the nearest wall. “Sleep? I wouldn‘t—That’s not why—The agency wouldn’t—” Good grief, what had she gotten herself into?
“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Ol’ Brainerd set you up, didn’t he? Thought it would be funny to—”
“The employment agency sent me. I needed the job. They didn’t say you’d try to ravish me.”
“I’m not going to do any such—”
Without waiting for his explanation, she made a dash for the kitchen and the connecting servants’ quarters. She’d lock herself in, call the police—
“Wait! What the hell—”
She didn’t stop. But given her portly figure, her fastest run was more like a slow waddle. He caught up with her at the butcher-block island counter in the kitchen and snared her by the arm.
“Don’t hurt the baby. Please don’t—”
“For God’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know what’s going on.”
Her chin trembled. He was a really big man, his shoulders broad beneath his suit jacket, and his penetrating eyes so light a shade of blue they flashed like swords of silver. Loretta would not want to sit across a negotiating table from Griffin Jones. He would intimidate the staunchest foe.
She wasn’t feeling very staunch at the moment
“Look, don’t cry,” he pleaded, loosening his grip on her arm. “I can’t stand a weepy woman.”
“I’m not weepy.” She sniffed.
“Are you saying the employment agency sent you?”
She nodded.
“You sure you didn’t just happen to see the article in Inside Business about me being one of the ten top eligible bachelors, and you thought you’d claim I was your baby’s father—”
“I’d never do such a thing,” she gasped. “Isabella never would have wanted to have your baby.”
He blinked. “Who’s Isabella? I thought your name was Lor—”
“She’s my aunt, or she was. My mother’s youngest sister. I’m having her baby.”
With a shake of his head, Griffin stepped back. Maybe he did have a fever, after all. This woman wasn’t making any sense. “Where’s your husband?”
“I don’t exactly have a husband.”
“Okay, then, your boyfriend.”
“I don’t exactly have one of those, either, not since I got pregnant.”
“You figured you’d get pregnant and your boyfriend would have to marry you, huh?” A woman had tried to do that to Griffin not so long ago. He’d been willing to do the right thing. He’d had to. The death of Griffin’s mother in childbirth had always haunted him. He’d been nagging his parents for a baby brother, and when it turned out she was pregnant with a girl, he hadn’t wanted her. Then, suddenly, his mother was gone and so was his sister. He’d felt guilty ever since and somehow responsible.
And so years later he’d naturally felt responsible for the woman he’d slept with, Amanda Cook—until he discovered she wasn’t pregnant at all. She was nothing more than a gold digger anxious to get her hands on the substantial fortune he’d earned running one of the biggest chains of electronic stores in the country. He wouldn’t fall for a trick like that again anytime soon; he’d sworn off relationships that even hinted at commitment.
“Oh, no, this isn’t Rudy’s baby. It’s Wayne’s.”
Wayne? She definitely had an active love life, more than Griffin had managed lately. “So why didn’t he marry you?”
“He was married to Isabella.”
Now he could see exactly what had happened. “So Isabella caught you playing around with her husband.”
“No, of course not.” She looked honestly offended he’d suggested that possibility. “I wouldn’t do a thing like that. I loved Wayne just like he was my blood uncle.”
“And that’s why you’re having his kid?” Griffin had definitely lost the drift here somewhere.
“Well, Isabella couldn’t do it. Somebody had to help them out. So I said I would. Rudy didn’t like that. He said it made me ‘used goods,’ just because I was having their baby.” Her chin began to tremble again and her doe eyes started to fill with tears. “That wasn’t a very nice thing for him to say, was it?”
Griffin wasn’t sure.
“And that’s why I really, really need this job, Mr. Jones. But there’s no way I’m going to go to bed with you, so you can just forget that idea right now.”
“It wasn’t my idea. I thought—” Ah, hell, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. “Look, why don’t we just sit down and talk a minute. We can start from the beginning, have a nice cup of coffee—”
“Herbal tea would be much better for your cold.”
“I don’t have a cold.”
“Of course you do. Everybody gets colds during the winter, especially during the holiday season. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. But I can get your ions back in shape in no time at all, if you’ll just give me the chance.”
How could a man argue with a woman whose eyes reminded him of hot chocolate? Particularly a pregnant woman. “Okay, we’ll do tea and you’ll tell me all about Isabella and Rudy—”
“I don’t want to talk about Rudy anymore. I wouldn’t marry him now even if he begged me.”
She scurried to the opposite side of the counter, opened a cupboard and pulled out a can of what Griffin assumed was her magical herbal tea. He hoped he’d be able to gag it down. He suspected Loretta Santana would get that bruised look in her dark eyes if he didn’t drink every last drop. To his everlasting dismay, he’d always been a sucker for a woman with tears in her eyes. Someday he’d learn his lesson.
“So you can start with Wayne and Isabella,” he suggested.
With surprising efficiency, she whipped out a teakettle, filled it with water and placed it on the stove, then retrieved cups and saucers from another cupboard. She wasn’t a large woman, Griffin realized, maybe five foot two. Her features were delicate, her cheeks beautifully sculpted. He’d heard pregnant women took on a special glow. With Loretta, he could believe that. Oddly, he didn’t want to think about the process that had gotten her pregnant or the man who’d had the privilege. Or the risks a small woman ran by carrying a baby, those same risks that had killed his mother.
“I made you a chicken casserole, if you’re hungry. Rodgers wasn’t sure you’d be home for dinner.”
“You talked to Rodgers?”
“He gave me a full orientation. What time you get up in the mornings, what you like for breakfast—”
“Did he know you were a woman?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I think he probably noticed.”
He grimaced. Dumb question, Jonesy. You’re usually a little smoother with the ladies. “I just thought it was strange Rodgers would agree to hire a woman as his replacement.”
“I told him I could type.”
Griffin hoped she’d get the tea ready in a hurry. Maybe it would clear his head. “Why would Rodgers care whether or not you can type?”
Turning, she planted her fists where her waist used to be. “He made it very clear he was not only your butler but also your personal secretary, screening phone calls, keeping your appointment schedule, that sort of thing. I assured him I was quite capable of handling secretarial chores of that very minor sort.”
Choking, Griffin began to cough again. As a part of his job, Rodgers made sure Griffin wasn’t interrupted when he was entertaining a lady, keeping phone calls and unexpected guests at bay, particularly when they were other women.
“Oh, my sakes, that cold of yours is just awful. I think I’d better whip up some chicken soup. You know, there’s nothing better—”
“No,” he croaked.
“Really, Mr. Jones, I think—”
“Sit down!” he bellowed.
She crumpled into the nearest chair at the oak breakfast table, her eyes as wide as flying saucers.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
She nodded vigorously, like one of those dolls you see in the back window of souped-up cars.
“I’m just going to explain to you why this isn’t going to work, you being my butler and all. It’s not personal, you understand. It’s that you’re a woman.” And pregnant.
Trying to gather himself, Griffin shoved his hands in his pants pockets. His jacket sleeves bunched up and he decided to get rid of the coat, shrugging it off. He took a deep breath. “Miss Santana, there are various occasions when I have young ladies visiting me. Attractive young ladies. Ladies with whom I sometimes have an intimate relationship.”
A rosy glow crept up her slender neck and stained her dramatically sculpted cheeks. “I’m not one to judge other people’s actions, Mr. Jones.”
“Yes, well—” he cleared his throat “—these young ladies, if and when they do visit, might not take kindly to me having a lovely young woman like yourself in my, er, employ.” Particularly a sexy, pregnant woman, he suspected. And he most assuredly didn’t like the idea. He didn’t want to be responsible. What if she fell...or went into early labor? A thousand things could go wrong.
“I wouldn’t think of interfering in your personal life, Mr. Jones. They’d never even see me, if that’s what you wanted. I’d be still as a mouse.” The color on her cheeks went from rose to scarlet, and she raised her chin to a stubborn angle. “Besides, you can’t discriminate against me because I’m a woman. The government doesn’t allow that anymore. A woman has certain recourses now.”
He frowned. He’d had a long day, the competition was gaining the upper hand, and now he had some pregnant woman issuing a veiled threat that she would sue. He didn’t like that one damn bit!
“Furthermore, if you’re considering discriminating because I happen to be pregnant, you should know forty-two out of the fifty states have laws that prevent discrimination solely for that reason. California is included in that list.”
It took him a moment to realize the shrill whistle in his head was the kettle boiling. Scowling, he gestured for her to get the tea.
She hopped up out of her chair like she’d been goosed. At the counter, she fussed with a teapot and bags of herbal tea while Griffin considered his options. Physically throwing Loretta Santana out of the house wasn’t one of them, though he might wish it were. But he just couldn’t do that to a pregnant woman—or any other woman, for that matter.
Damn, why had Rodgers’s aging mother decided to take a turn for the worse now? She’d been teetering on the edge of whatever for as long as Griffin could remember.
The only reason Griffin had a butler at all was because Rodgers had been with Griffin’s father since forever. When his dad died a couple of years ago, Griffin inherited the butler along with a multimillion-dollar company. Bequests like that weren’t something a man could turn down.
Loretta slid a cup and saucer onto the table near him. To his amazement it smelled pretty good—a combination of a pine forest and the scent of roses in spring. He sat down and took a sip. He didn’t think it would kill him, and maybe it might do something about the raspy throat that had been niggling at him all day.
“So tell me why you want to be my butler.”
She eased back into the chair opposite him. In a world of waifs, she’d be a winner. Fragile. Vulnerable. Yet something about the way she held her head suggested a stubborn streak a man would be wise not to challenge.
“It was the only job the agency would send me out on.” Her slender shoulders lifted in a shrug.
“Butlers are hard to find nowadays. The pay’s not especially good, you know. And I really needed the job so I could get medical coverage for myself and Isabelia’s baby.”
His gaze slid toward her midsection, now hidden by the edge of the table. “You’re having somebody else’s kid?”
“My aunt tried for years to get pregnant. When she turned forty, she got desperate. They decided to try a surrogate, and I volunteered.”
Ah, Isabella and Wayne. The herbal tea was definitely clearing his muddled brain. “You didn’t, ah, get that way—” he eyed her hidden belly again “—in the usual way?”
“Oh, my, no. That’s an awful thing to even think about Uncle Wayne.”
“There wasn’t anyone else who could do the job? I mean, as a surrogate.”
“My other aunts are mostly too old, and my cousins already have children, and their husbands weren’t keen on the idea. Besides, most of them didn’t have really easy pregnancies.”
He clenched a little. Maybe difficult pregnancies ran in her family—high-risk pregnancies. “Couldn’t Wayne hire somebody? It couldn’t cost much more than—”
“We’re family, Mr. Jones. When family’s involved, you do what needs to be done.”
“I wouldn’t give my uncle the time of day, much less get pregnant for him,” Griffin grumbled. Besides, Uncle Matt was the competition, the head of the electronic outlet stores that were giving his company fits.
A lyrical giggle erupted from Loretta. “I don’t think your uncle is likely to ask you to get pregnant.”
“Probably not,” he agreed, smiling wryly. He also couldn’t imagine his aunt, who looked as dry as a mesquite bush, asking him to impregnate her. He shuddered at the thought. “So why do you need medical insurance? I’d think your aunt and uncle would pay your expenses.”
“They died in a car accident.”
“I’m sorry. But didn’t they leave you something—”
“They weren’t rich, Mr. Jones. Not like you. And they never even thought about a will, I’m sure. Even if they had, there wasn’t enough left after the double funeral for my medical bills...or the baby’s.”
God, how he hated sob stories, particularly when they sounded legitimate. “Haven’t you been seeing a doctor?”
“Oh, sure. They prepaid my prenatal care, and the doctor’s been really good about not charging me for anything extra. But the delivery’s a whole different ball game, plus the hospital and pediatric care. So I’m going to need medical insurance.” Her eyes started to sparkle again, like diamonds in a pool of hot chocolate.
“Even if I let you work for me until you qualify—and I’m not saying I will,” he hastily added when he saw hope spring into her eyes, “wouldn’t the insurance company say you’ve got a pre-existing condition? They won’t cover—”
“It works a little differently with temp agencies. If I last long enough, I’m covered since the day I started work for them. It’s a carrot they hold out to keep employees around longer.”
“You’ve worked for these people before, then?”
Nodding, she sipped her tea. “Lots of times. I work when I’m not going to college.”
“College?”
She lifted her chin again at that determined angle. At some point the dark hair she’d pulled back into a bun had come loose, and feathery strands kissed the slender column of her neck. “I’m going to be the first person in my whole family who’s ever graduated from a university. I’ve completed 136 units at Cal State L.A.”
“That’s a lot of units.” More than Griffin had, and he had a degree.
“I would have graduated already but I keep changing my major. And they keep changing the requirements.”
“That can set you back, all right.”
“So I’ve still got a year or so to go. And now with the baby—” she shrugged “—it may take me a little longer.”
Maybe she should have thought about that before she agreed to have some other woman’s baby. Gritfin didn’t want anything to do with Loretta and her sob story. He certainly didn’t want her as his butler. But he couldn’t exactly throw her out on her ear in the middle of the night.
“Look, Miss Santana—”
“You can call me Loretta, if you like. They said in my accelerated butler’s class that was okay, if my employer found it easier.”
“Yeah, well...” Damn, he really hated firing people even when they were incompetent. So far, at least, Loretta hadn’t done anything wrong. “The truth is, I don’t actually need a butler.”
“Of course you do. Rodgers assured me—in confidence, you understand—that there are days when you wouldn’t be able to manage without him. You’re not terribly well organized, I gather.”
Griffin scowled. “Rodgers said that?”
“Oh, yes. But you mustn’t worry that I’ll let you down. I’m the most organized person I know.” She appeared quite confident.
He wasn’t convinced. “I still don’t think—”
The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it.” Loretta hopped up, bumping the table in the process with her oversize belly and tipping over her cup of tea. “Oh, dear, I’ll wipe that up in a minute. You leave it for me.”
“Why don’t I answer the door while you take care of—”
“No, no. Answering the door is my job. They taught me just what to do.”
Taught her to answer a door? If that’s what she learned in the accelerated class, Griffin could barely imagine what a slow course might include.
He heard the door open and Loretta greet his visitor.
“I’m truly sorry you didn’t call first, miss,” Loretta said. “Mr. Jones has a dreadful cold, and I don’t think it would be wise for him to have guests this evening.”
A feminine voice he couldn’t quite make out responded.
“Now, wait a minute,” he muttered, heading for the front of the house. His cold, such as it was, wasn’t that bad.
“I’m sure you understand Mr. Jones is only thinking of your well-being. He wouldn’t want to expose you to a virus that might take weeks for your immune system to throw off.”
Griffin spotted a willowy redhead at the door, a soap opera starlet who was making a big splash on the social scene. He’d been trying for weeks to date her.
“Aileen, hi, there. It’s good to see you. Come on in.” He tried to ease Loretta aside. She didn’t budge from her post at the door.
Aileen eyed him with regal disdain before sending Loretta a cutting look intended to cause a mere mortal to bleed profusely. “I don’t recall ever getting such an interesting brush-off before, Griffin.”
“No, you don’t understand. She’s my butler.”
“Really? How terribly convenient for you.” Turning, she floated back down the steps, gracefully exiting the scene.
Griffin swore under his breath and followed her to her flashy Porsche. He tried to talk to Aileen, to make her understand, but the best he got was “By all means, call me when your butler returns from England. If he ever does.”
The car roared off down the driveway, rattling across the planks of the twenty-foot-long bridge over the creek at the bottom of the hill.
Griffin fumed and marched back up the steps.
He glared at Loretta. “Do you know what you just did? I’ve been trying to date that woman for weeks.”
“Well, you certainly wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on her, then, by giving her your cold. That’d be terrible. She’d be overwhelmed by all those nasty little oxidants, her yin and yang would have a terrible battle, and then where would you be?”
He didn’t have a good answer for that as she breezily went back to the kitchen to clean up the spilled tea and make him some chicken soup.
Having Loretta Santana as his butler was definitely going to be hard on his love life.
Damn, he’d vowed years ago—at his mother’s funeral—that he’d never put a woman at risk by getting her pregnant. Irrational as it might seem to someone else, that’s how he felt. And he’d been especially careful. He’d always played the field, with women who understood marriage and having kids weren’t in the cards if they hung around with him.
Now, to his dismay, he had a pregnant woman on his hands. He didn’t want to be responsible. But he damn well didn’t know how to get rid of her.
Chapter Two
Griffin stretched and untangled himself from the bed sheets. To his surprise he felt a helluva lot better than he had last night. His sore throat was gone, his head clear. Amazing what a good night’s sleep could do for a man. Not for a minute did he attribute his miraculous cure to the herbal tea or chicken soup he’d consumed.
He frowned, recalling the scene at the front door last night and his new butler’s offhanded dismissal of Aileen Roquette. If it hadn’t been for Loretta Santana he might not have awakened alone in his bed this morning.
Rolling to his feet, he strolled to the window. The southern California sun cast early-morning shadows through the oaks and pines that surrounded his property, tinting summer-dried grass to a golden brown. Though less than an hour from downtown L.A., Topanga Canyon had a rural flavor. Along the winding canyon road, houses varied from modest homes to opulent residences sporting ten thousand square feet of living space. His was on the high end of the scale.
Finger combing his sleep-mussed hair, he scanned the redwood decking that circled three-quarters of the house and cantilevered out over the canyon. In a column of cool winter sunlight, Loretta sat crosslegged gazing toward the distant hillside.
Griffin’s lips twitched with the threat of a smile. In this light she looked like a cross between a delicate, dark-haired wood nymph and a chubby Buddha. Grimly he remembered he had to find some way to send her back to wherever she had come from.
He grabbed a pair of walking shorts from the closet, tugged them on and strolled outside. The mild air brushed against his bare legs and chest, promising a day that would grow much warmer, even though the calendar read early December.
Leaning back against the deck railing, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you meditate every morning?”
Slowly she opened her eyes and a little smile played around her lips. Kissable lips, he thought, momentarily caught off guard by her serene expression.
“I learned to meditate while I was working as a temp for the Transcendental Psychic Society. The technique’s really helpful to keep your free radicals from escaping.” She frowned and shrugged. “Or maybe they’re supposed to escape. I forget which. But meditation is really good for you.”
He had the distinct impression Loretta spoke an entirely different language than he did. “Is the society where you learned about ions and oxidants?”
“No, I learned that while I was working at a health food store.”
She tried to get up but couldn’t manage the right leverage. Griffin caught her arm to help her up before she turtled onto her back and was stuck there indefinitely. Her bones were so delicate; how could she carry the extra weight of the baby? He was amazed once again by her hidden strength, and a little bit scared by the risk her pregnancy posed.
Why the heck had she showed up on his doorstep?
“Thanks.” She flushed, her voice breathy. Glancing away from him, she dusted the back of her dark pants off with her hand. “I probably would have learned more but they fired me after two weeks.”
“The health food store?”
Nodding, she smiled sheepishly. “They caught me eating a Big Mac and fries in the stockroom.”
He swallowed a laugh. “That does seem a little sacrilegious.”
“They could have given me a second chance, though,” she said seriously. “I’d only been there two weeks and they shouldn’t expect a person to go cold turkey like that when it comes to junk food. I mean, they didn’t even want anybody to eat chocolate.”
“They probably had to maintain their standards.”
“That’s what they told me.” She shrugged, apparently unaware of how that made her breasts rise and fall in a very intriguing way. “I’ll get your breakfast now. I’ve got hand-squeezed orange juice for you, and I sent out early for papayas and strawberries to mix in. That’ll get your enzymes back on track.”
“I’m fine this morning.” Though he’d had an interesting reaction to her reference to hand-squeezed which had nothing to do with orange juice. “Why don’t you just bring me a cup of coffee and we can sit here and talk a minute.”
“Coffee?” She lifted a censuring brow.
“Yes, coffee. Caffeinated, if you please. If you’re offended by my asking you to bring me coffee, I’ll fix it myself.”
“Of course I’m not offended,” she said in a huff. “They taught me—”
“—in your accelerated butler classes. Coffee, Loretta. Now.”
Loretta hustled into the kitchen. Every bit of the calm she’d managed to gain through her meditation had flown right smack off the deck when she’d opened her eyes to discover Griffin standing there.
A man ought to know better than to show up first thing in the morning practically naked. And then to start giving her orders. For pity’s sake! How was she supposed to concentrate while she stared at that broad chest of his with its fascinating swirls of springy brown curls? Or when she surreptitiously glanced at his muscular legs roughened by the same intriguing hair. She wasn’t a saint. For heaven’s sake, the man gave her ideas she shouldn’t even be considering. Not in her advanced state of pregnancy. Not at all, she sternly reminded herself while trying to forget the warm feel of his hand on her elbow, steadying her.
She knew he was a megamillionaire, which didn’t trouble her one way or the other. The fact that he’d been plastered on the cover of grocery store tabloids as a big-time playboy did. Maybe she hadn’t recognized his name or his face immediately. But the truth had come to her the moment Miss Redheaded-Doll-Face had shown up at the door.
Some impulsive, protective instinct had made her want to close the door in the woman’s face. He deserved better than a bit actress who was about to be written out of a minor role in a mediocre soap by the hunky, dark-eyed villain popping her off in a fit of jealous rage. Loretta was certainly familiar with the storyline of the soap in question and could see what was coming.
Griffin Jones would simply have to be more discriminating about whom he dated while Loretta was in his employ. No doubt he would thank her eventually.
Which he would never have a chance to do if she didn’t get his breakfast out to him in a hurry and he fired her before he got his mainline morning dose of caffeine. Rodgers had indicated their employer could be a grouch before he got his coffee. Loretta wasn’t eager to test the waters.
Minutes later she carried a tray out to the deck—a generous pot of strong, black coffee, juice and homemade whole wheat date muffins slathered in let’s-pretend butter. Now was assuredly the time to impress her boss.
“There you go, sir. The perfect beginning to your day. Fifty-two percent of your daily minimum requirements for A, C, E, B—”
“It looks delicious.” Griffin waved her to sit down. Breakfast did look good and smelled even better. He took a sip of coffee. The caffeine jolted him with a sharp wake-up call, and he relaxed momentarily to enjoy the scenery—including his dark-eyed butler. “You’re not eating?”
“I had my breakfast ages ago. I’m usually an early riser.”
“I see.” He broke off a bite of muffin and watched the steam rise. She might not be acceptable as an employee of a health food store, but she knew a helluva lot about baking bread. “Do you live somewhere, Loretta? I mean, do you have an apartment where you stay when you’re, ah, not here?”
“I had a place. After Isabella died I gave it up, knowing I’d need the extra money. I moved back home with Mama.”
Ah, then she did have somewhere to go if he fired her.
“Of course, when I learned I’d have this job with you and would be living here, I gave up my room to my niece Patrice and her husband. They’ve got three kids plus one on the way and needed a place to stay while they’re doing a huge remodeling job on their house. More bedrooms, you know?”
So much for that plan. “It must be pretty crowded at your mother’s house with five additional people.”
“It’s not so bad. Of course, she has Enrico there—he’s my youngest brother and still in high school. Tía Louisa has lived with us for ages. She’s my great-aunt twice removed. A wonderful woman who does beautiful tatting.”
“Tatting?” he asked, distracted.
“It’s like lace except stringier. She makes up hope chests full of her tatting for all us girls. For our wedding presents, you know.”
He nodded as if he understood. He didn’t. “So if you went home now—”
“I’d have to sleep on the couch.”
Griffin’s eyes crossed. A pregnant woman shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch. It couldn’t be healthy. Desperately he drained the rest of the coffee from his cup.
“You want some more?” she asked graciously.
“Yes, please.” It was more a groan than a request. Dammit all! He was a business executive running a multimillion-dollar corporation with retail stores in the ten western states. This little waif of a female shouldn’t have him so far off balance with her whimsical stories, floating oxidants and the feeling he was responsible for her. Maybe he ought to hire her to work in one of his stores. That way she’d at least be out from underfoot. “Tell me, Loretta, do you know anything about computers or electronics?”
She poured from the pot on the tray. “Oh, sure. Lots. What would you like to know?”
Relief surged through him. There was a way out of the maze he’d found himself in.
“I play Nintendo with my nephew all the time,” she continued brightly. “Of course, he beats me most days, but I’m getting better.” She looked at Griffin with so much enthusiasm, he didn’t want to be the one to quash her spirit. But what the hell could she be majoring in to have a hundred and thirty-something units and not know squat about computers? Unless she was putting him on.
“When is your baby due?” he asked. A hopeless sense of futility settled over him. No way was he going to be able to get rid of this woman.
“Four weeks. And it’s only three weeks until I’m eligible for the insurance I need. See how well things work out when God is on your side?”
The headache that had only been a threat last night stabbed him right between his eyes. “You’re right.” He shoved back from the table. “I’ve got to go into the office.”
“On a Saturday?” she gasped.
“Yeah, on a Saturday.” If it had been Christmas Day, he would have gone into work to get away from the craziness that had invaded his home. Besides, he really did have work to do. He suspected his uncle Matt and his competitive electronics outlets were somehow diverting Compuware shipments to their own Compuworks stores. He needed to track back through the records to see if that was a possibility and if he had a spy in his own firm. The holidays were their busiest season, the sales during the month before Christmas representing a huge percentage of the annual gross. Losses now couldn’t be made up later. The industry changed too fast for second chances.
Loretta staggered to her feet, out of balance because of her swollen abdomen. “I put your car away in the garage for you last night. Rodgers said it shouldn’t be left out. Vandals and thieves, you know.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll be late getting home. Don’t worry about dinner for me.” With luck, he might be able to recoup his losses with Aileen.
Upstairs he showered, shaved and dressed casually for his day at work. He hated wearing suits, but the job required it of him when he was dealing with suppliers. Not so on Saturday.
Feeling refreshed, he went downstairs, hit the button for the garage door opener and gazed in dismay at the dented front bumper and broken headlight on his prize Mercedes 450SL.
“Loretta!” he bellowed.
Loretta winced. She’d known he was going to yell at her. She didn’t have to like it.
“I’m coming!” She sped up her waddle to a near run, hurrying to the garage. She couldn’t remember seeing a man truly glower before, all deep lines and grooves that turned his face into a mask of fury. Not until now.
“Would you care to tell me what happened to my car? My classic car?” he added tightly.
“I don’t want you to worry about a thing, Mr. Jones. My brother has promised he’ll fix—”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d practically totaled my car?”
“Now if you’ll just be calm, Mr. Jones. Your electrolytes are going to get all in a flurry—”
“Miss Santana!”
She swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
“I want to know how you managed to do that much damage moving my car less than a hundred feet from the front of the house where I parked it into the garage.”
“I couldn’t find the light switch.”
He looked at her blankly. “What light switch?”
“For the headlights, of course. I’ve never driven a Mercedes before. And then when I tried to drive it into the garage—per Rodgers’s very specific instructions—my foot got caught in the hem of my nightgown. I was trying to unhook that when I kind of stepped on the gas pedal with my other foot. That’s when the potted palm over there practically leaped out in front of your car.”
Griffin closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He was not going to lose his temper. Nor was he going to picture Loretta running around outside in the middle of the night in a nightgown.
“You really don’t have to worry about a thing,” she assured him. “Roberto is going to come pick up your car any minute now.”
“Roberto?”
“My brother. He does wonderful car repairs. Your Mercedes will be right as rain in no time.”
“I think I’d rather take it to the dealership that knows how to handle these classic cars. Thanks, anyway.”
“Oh, but Roberto will only charge you half as much as one of those fancy-shmancy dealerships would.”
“I’ve got insurance.”
“All the more reason why you should let Roberto do the work. A dealership would overcharge you, and your insurance rates would go up. You’d end up paying two or three times as much as you would if you had just let Roberto take care of things in the first place.”
Griffin knew there was a hole in her logic somewhere. He just couldn’t put his finger on it at the moment. The image of her dancing around his driveway in a see-through negligee was like a looping videotape in his brain that he couldn’t switch off.
“Besides, Roberto is family,” she said with the same finality that an archeologist would use to announce he’d found the key to the Dead Sea Scrolls.
He glanced at the crumpled fender and broken headlight. “When is your brother coming?”
“Any minute now. He had to fix his tow truck first.”
Somehow that did not bode well for the future. But Griffin didn’t have the time or energy to stand around arguing with his pregnant butler about who was going to repair his convertible—the only car he owned at the moment. “Look, I’ve got to get to the office. I’ll call a cab—”
“Don’t be silly. You can use my car. I’m not going anywhere today.”
He followed her gaze toward the far end of the four-car garage. A battered compact sat just beyond the last doorway. From what he could see, the vehicle had been cobbled together out of junkyard parts, each fender a different color and a trunk lid that was tied closed with a rope. He never should have sold his Rolls....
“Does it run?” he asked.
“Oh, sure. Like a top. Roberto keeps it going for me.” She produced a key from her pocket just as a tow truck came roaring up the driveway, smoke belching from the tailpipe. The driver backed it around, end first toward the damaged vehicle.
Griffin coughed at the fumes. “Maybe we ought to switch to plan B.”
“He’ll do a wonderful job. You’ll see.”
Hurrying over to the truck, Loretta gave her brother a hug when he climbed out.
“Hey, sis, is that the guy you’re living with?” Roberto asked, eyeing Griffin with the protective instincts of a big brother.
“I’m not living with him, not like you mean,” she protested.
“Yeah, well Mama’s not too thrilled about you moving in with some stranger. You oughta be home where she can keep an eye on you, Lori.”
“There’s no room. Not with Patrice living there. Besides, I need the money.”
“All the same, it just don’t look right, you shacking up with some guy nobody knows.”
“I’m not shacking up with him. I’m his butler. Besides, he’s got so many girlfriends, he wouldn’t give me the time of day, even if I were interested. Which I’m not.” No way could Loretta compete with women like that Miss Redhead person. Not that she’d want to. And given her advanced pregnancy, she didn’t imagine any man, most certainly not a well-known millionaire playboy, would give her a second thought Even if she’d want him to. Which she didn’t.
“Any guy would be lucky to have you, sis. Everybody in the family says so.” Roberto waved to Griffin and called to him. “I’ll have your wheels hooked up and outta here in a minute.”
“Fne,” Griffin said. “Just be careful. I’d just as soon you didn’t do any more damage than has already been done.”
“No problema. Since you’re a friend of Lori’s, I’ll even give you a tune-up. No charge.” With another wave, he scooted under the Mercedes to hook up the towing cable, leaving only his overall-clad legs and his work boots sticking out.
Griffin came closer. “Look, I still think it’d be smart to call a dealership. I wouldn’t want anything—”
“You worry too much, Mr. Jones. Roberto’s practically a genius when it comes to cars.”
Her employer didn’t look convinced.
Roberto scooted back out from under the Mercedes and hopped to his feet. “Piece of cake,” he said with a cocky grin.
He flipped the lever up on the hydraulic lift and stood back to watch. Slowly the rear end of the car rose and edged toward the truck. It was a beautiful convertible, all shining silver-blue with lots of chrome, colors that matched the owner’s strikingly attractive eyes. Loretta could hardly believe she’d actually had a chance to drive the car, albeit right into a potted palm.
Griffin’s stress level grew more palpable with each inch the car rose above the driveway. He really ought to increase his intake of vitamin E, Loretta concluded. Or maybe it was vitamin B he needed. She’d have to be sure he had plenty of both. Clearly, he was suffering from too much tension in his life.
At the instant that thought came to her, something went wrong with the hydraulic lift. With a pop, oil squirted out, spraying all over the Mercedes and pooling on the concrete driveway. The car shook precariously for a moment, then dropped with a crash, the back colliding with the industrial-strength bumper of the tow truck.
Metal squealed. The Mercedes’s bumper twisted, coming lose from its mooring and jutting up at an odd angle.
Cringing, Loretta wished she could crawl into a hole right there in the middle of the driveway. But when she met Griffin’s furious gaze, she knew that even a hole dug all the way to China wouldn’t be deep enough to protect her from his righteous anger.
Her only choice was to do a whole lot of fancy talking. And do it in a hurry.
Chapter Three
Griffin couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to be talked out of having Roberto arrested for assault and battery on his Mercedes. Reckless mayhem, at the very least.
Worse, he’d permitted the incompetent fool to tow his prize car away. Probably to the nearest metal shredder, he thought grimly.
It had been Loretta’s tears that had done him in. That and her crazy insistence that he was upset only because his yin and yang had gotten out of balance. What he needed was megadoses of vitamins B and E, she assured him between quivering lips.
Now, how could any reasonable man argue with a combination like that? Particularly when he was scared spitless if she got too upset she might have her baby right there on his driveway.
He pulled into his parking spot at the headquarters of Compuware, and Loretta’s ancient relic of a car lurched to a stop. He turned off the ignition. For several beats the old Datsun kept on chuffing. Grimacing, he hoped no one had seen him drive up. If he had any sense, he’d park it a block away and hope somebody would steal the damn thing. It wouldn’t do much for his image as a corporate executive and playboy millionaire to be seen driving this crate around town.
Not that he cared a whole lot, he thought with a grin, thinking about his imp of a butler. He couldn’t remember any woman who’d been so unimpressed with his wealth, much less that he was also her employer. Family was the only thing that counted with her—in this case, her brother, her long-suffering mother, Tía Louisa and a half-dozen other relatives who were counting on Roberto to help support them with his fledgling auto repair service. A virtual army of loved ones Griffin hadn’t been able to fight.
He didn’t suppose he had that many relations in the entire universe.
The one he did have—Uncle Matt—wasn’t high on his list of people he owed favors. Ten years ago Matt and Griffin’s father had had a falling out. A feud had started, eventually ending in Matt breaking up the Compuware partnership to start his own company. In the process he nearly bankrupted the firm. The rivalry was still bitter.
Even so long after the split, Griffin felt a sense of betrayal. Matt had been his favorite uncle—his only one on his father’s side of the family. He’d had to remain loyal to his dad but dammit all, neither one of them had given a darn about him. And he’d loved them both.
Griffin used his key to let himself in the door of Compuware’s headquarters building, which fronted on Washington Boulevard with the warehouse in back. His footsteps echoed across the empty lobby, and he took the stairs to the third floor.
Almost the moment he’d set foot in his office, Ralph Brainerd showed up.
“Have you seen this, Jonesy?” His executive vice president tossed a copy of an early edition of the Saturday LA. Times on his cluttered oak desk. It was folded open to an advertisement for Compuworks, the competition.
Griffin scanned it quickly. “They’re beating our prices by twenty to fifty dollars on almost every item. How can they do that and make any money?”
“There’s worse news.”
“On a day like this?” A day when he’d watched his Mercedes practically being bent in half? “Why am I not surprised?”
“One of our delivery trucks took a header off an overpass in Simi Valley. Turned about two hundred computers, monitors and printers into scrap.”
He swore under his breath. “How’s the driver?”
“Battered but okay. He’ll be off work a couple of weeks. The truck’s totaled. I’ve called the insurance people.”
“Right.” Griffin sat down in his swivel chair, tilting it back. The springs squeaked. “So tell me how come Compuworks undercuts us every time? They can’t be buying from the suppliers any cheaper than we are.”
A wiry man with the physique of a cross-country runner, Brainy-Brainerd hooked a hip on the corner of Griffin’s desk. They’d gone to high school together, Ralph the brains of the duo. Later they’d worked side by side in Compuware’s warehouse, sweeping floors and running forklifts. “Maybe the old man isn’t interested in making money anymore.”
An unlikely possibility, given the way Griffin’s father had ranted on about Uncle Matt being so greedy. “It’s like they know what our bottom-line prices are going to be and knock off just enough to make it a better deal.”
“Seems that way.” He weighed a letter opener in his hand, rolling it back and forth in his palm.
“So how do they find out, Brainy? Who’s telling ’em?”
Brainy shrugged. “You figure we’ve got a spy?”
“It’s possible.” Griffin only knew for sure that he’d cut about as much waste as he could from Compuware’s operation, and he still wasn’t meeting Uncle Matt’s prices. Any more cuts, and he and Brainy would be back working shifts in the warehouse themselves.
“You want me to have advertising gin up an ad for next week to meet these prices?”
“That would almost be too late in the season to do any good.” Leaning forward, he studied the newspaper spread in front of him. Instead of an array of computers and accessories, he saw Loretta’s impish face and innocent brown eyes staring back at him. Her knowledge of computers was limited to playing Nintendo with a nephew. Even in this day and age, a lot of people didn’t know computer basics. That thought sparked an idea that would advance his company over the competition.
“Compuware and Compuworks are like two dogs fighting over the same bone. What we need is to develop a new market, people who never thought they would buy a computer. They’re scared of the technology, and they don’t have much money.”
He looked up at his buddy. “I want them to come to our stores to buy everything they need to enter the twenty-first century. We’ll offer no down payment, extended credit and hands-on help getting started. If they’ve even been thinking about getting a computer for their family for a Christmas gift, they won’t be able to resist our deal.”
“We could lose our shirts doing that.”
“Or it could give us an edge over Uncle Matt.”
He and Ralph talked about the idea for a while, finally deciding to get an advertising campaign rolling in a hurry. With luck, they could draw business away from Compuworks and entice new customers at the same time.
“So how’d it go with Aileen last night?” Ralph asked after they’d concluded their business. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Tell me all, boss man. Is she as good in the sack as she looks?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he grumbled. “My butler discouraged her from sticking around.”
“Rodgers?”
“No, my new butler. Say, you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?” Griffin was still having trouble believing the agency would have sent Loretta to him, though once she set her mind on something she was a hard person to discourage.
“Not me. I didn’t even know Rodgers had quit.”
“He hasn’t. He’s on vacation.”
Ralph gathered up the newspapers from Griffin’s desk and the notes he’d taken. “So the new guy sent Aileen away?”
“It’s a gal, not a guy.”
“Your butler?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re kidding.” Ralph laughed. “Some guys have all the luck. Is she a looker?”
Griffin contemplated the question for a moment. Certainly Loretta wasn’t as willowy as Aileen or most of the women he dated. Not as sophisticated, either. She’d probably never been to one of the hot, upscale nightclubs in town. He doubted she’d ever attended theater openings or the Emmy Awards. Yet something about her striking features, dark liquid eyes and easy smile suggested her unique beauty went more than skin-deep.
But she was pregnant with another man’s child, he reminded himself. Hell, with another woman’s child, for that matter. And that made her off limits even if he might otherwise have been interested.
Griffin Jones was a long way from wanting to be tied down with a family, particularly a family with aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings that appeared to multiply faster than a computer virus.
“Let’s just say I’m planning to mend some fences with Aileen today,” he said. “If I can get her up to my place again, the results will be different this time.”
Ralph grinned knowingly. “Good luck, boss man.
When he left, Griffin picked up the phone. If he could convince Aileen to have dinner with him, he’d consider that he’d turned a miserable day into a successful one.
Loretta had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when the phone rang. Drying her hands on a paper towel, she answered in her most professional voice. “Jones residence, the butler speaking.”
“Hey, Lori. How’s it going?”
“Oh, hi, Brenna,” she said, smiling as she recognized her cousin’s voice. Stretching the cord across the kitchen, she opened the cupboard under the counter and tossed the paper towel in the trash compactor. “How’d you find me here?”
“Your mom said you had a new job. Is it true what they say about your boss?”
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Charlotte Maclay
IN THE FAMILY WAY…When lovely Loretta Santana signed on as Griffin Jones's temporary butler, the wealthy playboy discovered he suddenly had a few unexpected problems. One: his petite new butler was a she. Two: she was pregnant. Three: she was eight months pregnant and soon to be a single mom….All Loretta had wanted was to earn a month's fair wages before her Christmas delivery arrived–until she fell for her debonair employer's considerable charms. And it didn't help that the wedding-wary bachelor's protective instincts lurched into overdrive–but could Loretta convince the acting daddy-to-be to take on that role for a lifetime?
Loretta’s hand clasped her midsection, her eyes wide. (#ub101bdd7-d5b2-5bf8-a6c1-65ebb547290f)Letter to Reader (#u5e972c6a-80a7-5d22-adc7-46a6aa833032)Title Page (#ua72415e0-ab55-5ea7-9a90-bce338435fa8)Dedication (#u065b0f55-eb6a-5284-ad3d-c20d40360577)About the Author (#ub21f5c1c-74d4-5a7a-9b16-c0c188745ce9)Chapter One (#uf16233ed-6cb5-5975-9969-ed8f5ac961ec)Chapter Two (#u5a46a049-eb8b-5b7a-b4b9-1f0583673921)Chapter Three (#u68b54663-384a-5289-9bde-8d98e6dcc467)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Loretta’s hand clasped her midsection, her eyes wide.
Panic whipped through Griffin. “Are you having the baby?”
Shaking her head, Loretta took Griffin’s hand and planted it on her swollen belly. “She—or he—just kicked me. Here, feel.”
The heat of her body scorched his hand. He wanted to pull back, but she held him there. And then the baby kicked.
To actually feel the movement, to imagine a tiny foot pressing against his hand, touched him in a way he certainly hadn’t expected. An odd lump formed in his throat. He gazed into Loretta’s liquid-brown eyes, and they wouldn’t let him go. At some gut level, Griffin wanted to pledge he’d be there to take care of this baby, but he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t a family man.
With a force of will, he broke the connection between them and stepped back. He was not going to get involved with this woman or her baby.
Except that he already was....
Dear Reader,
The end of the century is near, and we’re all eagerly anticipating the wonders to come. But no matter what happens, I believe that everyone will continue to need and to seek the unquenchable spirit of love...of romance. And here at Silhouette Romance, we’re delighted to present another month’s worth of terrific, emotional stories.
This month, RITA Award-winning author Marie Ferrarella offers a tender BUNDLES OF JOY tale, in which The Baby Beneath the Mistletoe brings together a man who’s lost his faith and a woman who challenges him to take a chance at love...and family. In Charlotte Maclay’s charming new novel, a millionaire playboy isn’t sure what he was Expecting at Christmas, but what he gets is a very pregnant butler! Elizabeth Harbison launches her wonderful new theme-based miniseries, CINDERELLA BRIDES, with the fairy-tale romance—complete with mistaken identity!—between Emma and the Earl.
In A Diamond for Kate by Moyra Tarling, discover whether a doctor makes his devoted nurse his devoted wife after learning about her past... Patricia Thayer’s cross-line miniseries WITH THESE RINGS returns to Romance and poses the question: Can The Man, the Ring the Wedding end a fifty-year-old curse? You’ll have to read this dramatic story to find out! And though The Millionaire’s Proposition involves making a baby in Natalie Patrick’s upbeat Romance, can a down-on-her-luck waitress also convince him to make beautiful memories...as man and wife?
Enjoy this month’s offering, and look forward to a new century of timeless, traditional tales guaranteed to touch your heart!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Expecting at Christmas
Charlotte Maclay
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my great-nephew—wear your name proudly!
CHARLOTTE MACLAY
has always enjoyed putting words on paper. Until recently, most of these words have been nonfiction, including a weekly newspaper column, which has recruited nearly twenty thousand volunteers in the past twenty years for some four hundred different local nonprofit organizations.
When she is not urging people to get involved in their community, Charlotte divides her time among writing, volunteering for her favorite organizations (including Orange County Chapter of Romance Writers of America), trying not to mother two married daughters and sharing her life in Southern California with her own special hero, Chuck.
Dear Santa,
It’s been a long time since I’ve written a list to you, but this year, maybe because the baby will be here soon and it will be his or her first Christmas, there are a few things I would wish for to make this holiday just perfect.
1) For my brother Roberto, a new tow truck for his business
2) My brother Marco could sure use some new pizza pans to replace the banged-up ones he uses at his restaurant
3) Nothing pleases dear Aunt Louisa more than skeins of tatting yam, so I’d wish for a basket of yarn for her that magically would never get empty
4) Now I know my cousin Brenna would love a mini second honeymoon with her husband....
5) And as for me, I don’t want much for Christmas—but with all my heart I wish for a healthy baby with ten fingers, ten toes and an adorable smile. That would do me just fine.
Of course, if I were being totally honest, I’d want a daddy for my baby—and a husband for me. But I don’t suppose I’d ever find one in your pack. Still, there’s no harm in asking....
Merry Christmas.
Love,
Loretta Santana
Chapter One
Getting a job was always difficult. Landing one when you were eight months pregnant counted as a miracle.
Loretta Santana smoothed her hair back as she heard her new employer’s car cross the narrow wooden bridge at the bottom of Topanga Canyon Road and navigate the circular drive in front of his house.
She’d never actually been a butler before, though she’d taken an accelerated class at the Westside Butler Academy just last week in order to qualify for this position. And, true, her black suit, which she wore with a neat little bow tie, might have been a bit odd to order in a maternity size. But she was determined she’d keep this job until she became eligible for insurance benefits with the temporary agency that had hired her. She only needed one hundred and twenty more hours to her credit—three weeks—and she could sign up. Her baby wasn’t due for another four weeks and one day, the week after Christmas.
Instinctively she slid her hand across her distended belly. Both she and Isabella’s baby would need the medical benefits.
Anxiety had her gnawing at her lower lip as she opened the front door, standing back so Griffin Jones wouldn’t get a full-length look at her right off. Her nerves were certainly frazzled. When she got past this hurdle, she’d have to take a megadose of vitamin E to stabilize her ions and get her yin and yang back in balance.
With the easy strides of an athlete, Griffin mounted the steps two at a time. His suit jacket hung open and his power tie was loose around his collar. He came to an abrupt halt at the front door.
“Well, well, well,” he drawled. A wicked smile curled amazingly sensual lips. “What have we got here?”
“Loretta Santana, sir. Your temporary butler.”
He glanced past her into the rustic entry with its warm wood paneling and subdued lighting. “What did you do with Rodgers, sweetheart?”
“I believe he’s en route to London, sir.”
“Oh, I forgot that he had some sort of a family crisis back home.” Frowning, he cocked his head to the right, causing a lock of tobacco-brown hair to slide across his forehead at a rakish angle. “And you’re somebody’s idea of a joke butler?”
She flushed. “No, sir. I’m fully qualified to—”
“I’ll just bet you are.” He stepped across the threshold, his gaze raking over her with swift, masculine interest until it landed right smack on her midsection. “My God, you’re pregnant!” He choked and began coughing.
“Oh, you poor thing. You must have a terrible cold.” Automatically she placed the back of her hand to his forehead. “A fever, too. You’d better come inside. I’ll brew you a nice herbal toddy and give you some of my rejuvenative hydration pills. You’ll be right as rain in no time, sir.” Hooking her arm through his, Loretta tried to hustle him toward the master bedroom where he could get the rest he obviously needed—and forget he had a pregnant butler working for him. “Winter colds can be so dreadful. Would you like me to draw a nice hot bath for you, sir? Or can you manage for yourself?”
He put on the brakes. “I don’t have a cold, just a little sore throat, and I don’t appreciate my buddies playing a practical joke on me. They know damn well I wouldn’t sleep with a pregnant woman.”
Shock drove her back against the nearest wall. “Sleep? I wouldn‘t—That’s not why—The agency wouldn’t—” Good grief, what had she gotten herself into?
“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Ol’ Brainerd set you up, didn’t he? Thought it would be funny to—”
“The employment agency sent me. I needed the job. They didn’t say you’d try to ravish me.”
“I’m not going to do any such—”
Without waiting for his explanation, she made a dash for the kitchen and the connecting servants’ quarters. She’d lock herself in, call the police—
“Wait! What the hell—”
She didn’t stop. But given her portly figure, her fastest run was more like a slow waddle. He caught up with her at the butcher-block island counter in the kitchen and snared her by the arm.
“Don’t hurt the baby. Please don’t—”
“For God’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know what’s going on.”
Her chin trembled. He was a really big man, his shoulders broad beneath his suit jacket, and his penetrating eyes so light a shade of blue they flashed like swords of silver. Loretta would not want to sit across a negotiating table from Griffin Jones. He would intimidate the staunchest foe.
She wasn’t feeling very staunch at the moment
“Look, don’t cry,” he pleaded, loosening his grip on her arm. “I can’t stand a weepy woman.”
“I’m not weepy.” She sniffed.
“Are you saying the employment agency sent you?”
She nodded.
“You sure you didn’t just happen to see the article in Inside Business about me being one of the ten top eligible bachelors, and you thought you’d claim I was your baby’s father—”
“I’d never do such a thing,” she gasped. “Isabella never would have wanted to have your baby.”
He blinked. “Who’s Isabella? I thought your name was Lor—”
“She’s my aunt, or she was. My mother’s youngest sister. I’m having her baby.”
With a shake of his head, Griffin stepped back. Maybe he did have a fever, after all. This woman wasn’t making any sense. “Where’s your husband?”
“I don’t exactly have a husband.”
“Okay, then, your boyfriend.”
“I don’t exactly have one of those, either, not since I got pregnant.”
“You figured you’d get pregnant and your boyfriend would have to marry you, huh?” A woman had tried to do that to Griffin not so long ago. He’d been willing to do the right thing. He’d had to. The death of Griffin’s mother in childbirth had always haunted him. He’d been nagging his parents for a baby brother, and when it turned out she was pregnant with a girl, he hadn’t wanted her. Then, suddenly, his mother was gone and so was his sister. He’d felt guilty ever since and somehow responsible.
And so years later he’d naturally felt responsible for the woman he’d slept with, Amanda Cook—until he discovered she wasn’t pregnant at all. She was nothing more than a gold digger anxious to get her hands on the substantial fortune he’d earned running one of the biggest chains of electronic stores in the country. He wouldn’t fall for a trick like that again anytime soon; he’d sworn off relationships that even hinted at commitment.
“Oh, no, this isn’t Rudy’s baby. It’s Wayne’s.”
Wayne? She definitely had an active love life, more than Griffin had managed lately. “So why didn’t he marry you?”
“He was married to Isabella.”
Now he could see exactly what had happened. “So Isabella caught you playing around with her husband.”
“No, of course not.” She looked honestly offended he’d suggested that possibility. “I wouldn’t do a thing like that. I loved Wayne just like he was my blood uncle.”
“And that’s why you’re having his kid?” Griffin had definitely lost the drift here somewhere.
“Well, Isabella couldn’t do it. Somebody had to help them out. So I said I would. Rudy didn’t like that. He said it made me ‘used goods,’ just because I was having their baby.” Her chin began to tremble again and her doe eyes started to fill with tears. “That wasn’t a very nice thing for him to say, was it?”
Griffin wasn’t sure.
“And that’s why I really, really need this job, Mr. Jones. But there’s no way I’m going to go to bed with you, so you can just forget that idea right now.”
“It wasn’t my idea. I thought—” Ah, hell, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. “Look, why don’t we just sit down and talk a minute. We can start from the beginning, have a nice cup of coffee—”
“Herbal tea would be much better for your cold.”
“I don’t have a cold.”
“Of course you do. Everybody gets colds during the winter, especially during the holiday season. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. But I can get your ions back in shape in no time at all, if you’ll just give me the chance.”
How could a man argue with a woman whose eyes reminded him of hot chocolate? Particularly a pregnant woman. “Okay, we’ll do tea and you’ll tell me all about Isabella and Rudy—”
“I don’t want to talk about Rudy anymore. I wouldn’t marry him now even if he begged me.”
She scurried to the opposite side of the counter, opened a cupboard and pulled out a can of what Griffin assumed was her magical herbal tea. He hoped he’d be able to gag it down. He suspected Loretta Santana would get that bruised look in her dark eyes if he didn’t drink every last drop. To his everlasting dismay, he’d always been a sucker for a woman with tears in her eyes. Someday he’d learn his lesson.
“So you can start with Wayne and Isabella,” he suggested.
With surprising efficiency, she whipped out a teakettle, filled it with water and placed it on the stove, then retrieved cups and saucers from another cupboard. She wasn’t a large woman, Griffin realized, maybe five foot two. Her features were delicate, her cheeks beautifully sculpted. He’d heard pregnant women took on a special glow. With Loretta, he could believe that. Oddly, he didn’t want to think about the process that had gotten her pregnant or the man who’d had the privilege. Or the risks a small woman ran by carrying a baby, those same risks that had killed his mother.
“I made you a chicken casserole, if you’re hungry. Rodgers wasn’t sure you’d be home for dinner.”
“You talked to Rodgers?”
“He gave me a full orientation. What time you get up in the mornings, what you like for breakfast—”
“Did he know you were a woman?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I think he probably noticed.”
He grimaced. Dumb question, Jonesy. You’re usually a little smoother with the ladies. “I just thought it was strange Rodgers would agree to hire a woman as his replacement.”
“I told him I could type.”
Griffin hoped she’d get the tea ready in a hurry. Maybe it would clear his head. “Why would Rodgers care whether or not you can type?”
Turning, she planted her fists where her waist used to be. “He made it very clear he was not only your butler but also your personal secretary, screening phone calls, keeping your appointment schedule, that sort of thing. I assured him I was quite capable of handling secretarial chores of that very minor sort.”
Choking, Griffin began to cough again. As a part of his job, Rodgers made sure Griffin wasn’t interrupted when he was entertaining a lady, keeping phone calls and unexpected guests at bay, particularly when they were other women.
“Oh, my sakes, that cold of yours is just awful. I think I’d better whip up some chicken soup. You know, there’s nothing better—”
“No,” he croaked.
“Really, Mr. Jones, I think—”
“Sit down!” he bellowed.
She crumpled into the nearest chair at the oak breakfast table, her eyes as wide as flying saucers.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
She nodded vigorously, like one of those dolls you see in the back window of souped-up cars.
“I’m just going to explain to you why this isn’t going to work, you being my butler and all. It’s not personal, you understand. It’s that you’re a woman.” And pregnant.
Trying to gather himself, Griffin shoved his hands in his pants pockets. His jacket sleeves bunched up and he decided to get rid of the coat, shrugging it off. He took a deep breath. “Miss Santana, there are various occasions when I have young ladies visiting me. Attractive young ladies. Ladies with whom I sometimes have an intimate relationship.”
A rosy glow crept up her slender neck and stained her dramatically sculpted cheeks. “I’m not one to judge other people’s actions, Mr. Jones.”
“Yes, well—” he cleared his throat “—these young ladies, if and when they do visit, might not take kindly to me having a lovely young woman like yourself in my, er, employ.” Particularly a sexy, pregnant woman, he suspected. And he most assuredly didn’t like the idea. He didn’t want to be responsible. What if she fell...or went into early labor? A thousand things could go wrong.
“I wouldn’t think of interfering in your personal life, Mr. Jones. They’d never even see me, if that’s what you wanted. I’d be still as a mouse.” The color on her cheeks went from rose to scarlet, and she raised her chin to a stubborn angle. “Besides, you can’t discriminate against me because I’m a woman. The government doesn’t allow that anymore. A woman has certain recourses now.”
He frowned. He’d had a long day, the competition was gaining the upper hand, and now he had some pregnant woman issuing a veiled threat that she would sue. He didn’t like that one damn bit!
“Furthermore, if you’re considering discriminating because I happen to be pregnant, you should know forty-two out of the fifty states have laws that prevent discrimination solely for that reason. California is included in that list.”
It took him a moment to realize the shrill whistle in his head was the kettle boiling. Scowling, he gestured for her to get the tea.
She hopped up out of her chair like she’d been goosed. At the counter, she fussed with a teapot and bags of herbal tea while Griffin considered his options. Physically throwing Loretta Santana out of the house wasn’t one of them, though he might wish it were. But he just couldn’t do that to a pregnant woman—or any other woman, for that matter.
Damn, why had Rodgers’s aging mother decided to take a turn for the worse now? She’d been teetering on the edge of whatever for as long as Griffin could remember.
The only reason Griffin had a butler at all was because Rodgers had been with Griffin’s father since forever. When his dad died a couple of years ago, Griffin inherited the butler along with a multimillion-dollar company. Bequests like that weren’t something a man could turn down.
Loretta slid a cup and saucer onto the table near him. To his amazement it smelled pretty good—a combination of a pine forest and the scent of roses in spring. He sat down and took a sip. He didn’t think it would kill him, and maybe it might do something about the raspy throat that had been niggling at him all day.
“So tell me why you want to be my butler.”
She eased back into the chair opposite him. In a world of waifs, she’d be a winner. Fragile. Vulnerable. Yet something about the way she held her head suggested a stubborn streak a man would be wise not to challenge.
“It was the only job the agency would send me out on.” Her slender shoulders lifted in a shrug.
“Butlers are hard to find nowadays. The pay’s not especially good, you know. And I really needed the job so I could get medical coverage for myself and Isabelia’s baby.”
His gaze slid toward her midsection, now hidden by the edge of the table. “You’re having somebody else’s kid?”
“My aunt tried for years to get pregnant. When she turned forty, she got desperate. They decided to try a surrogate, and I volunteered.”
Ah, Isabella and Wayne. The herbal tea was definitely clearing his muddled brain. “You didn’t, ah, get that way—” he eyed her hidden belly again “—in the usual way?”
“Oh, my, no. That’s an awful thing to even think about Uncle Wayne.”
“There wasn’t anyone else who could do the job? I mean, as a surrogate.”
“My other aunts are mostly too old, and my cousins already have children, and their husbands weren’t keen on the idea. Besides, most of them didn’t have really easy pregnancies.”
He clenched a little. Maybe difficult pregnancies ran in her family—high-risk pregnancies. “Couldn’t Wayne hire somebody? It couldn’t cost much more than—”
“We’re family, Mr. Jones. When family’s involved, you do what needs to be done.”
“I wouldn’t give my uncle the time of day, much less get pregnant for him,” Griffin grumbled. Besides, Uncle Matt was the competition, the head of the electronic outlet stores that were giving his company fits.
A lyrical giggle erupted from Loretta. “I don’t think your uncle is likely to ask you to get pregnant.”
“Probably not,” he agreed, smiling wryly. He also couldn’t imagine his aunt, who looked as dry as a mesquite bush, asking him to impregnate her. He shuddered at the thought. “So why do you need medical insurance? I’d think your aunt and uncle would pay your expenses.”
“They died in a car accident.”
“I’m sorry. But didn’t they leave you something—”
“They weren’t rich, Mr. Jones. Not like you. And they never even thought about a will, I’m sure. Even if they had, there wasn’t enough left after the double funeral for my medical bills...or the baby’s.”
God, how he hated sob stories, particularly when they sounded legitimate. “Haven’t you been seeing a doctor?”
“Oh, sure. They prepaid my prenatal care, and the doctor’s been really good about not charging me for anything extra. But the delivery’s a whole different ball game, plus the hospital and pediatric care. So I’m going to need medical insurance.” Her eyes started to sparkle again, like diamonds in a pool of hot chocolate.
“Even if I let you work for me until you qualify—and I’m not saying I will,” he hastily added when he saw hope spring into her eyes, “wouldn’t the insurance company say you’ve got a pre-existing condition? They won’t cover—”
“It works a little differently with temp agencies. If I last long enough, I’m covered since the day I started work for them. It’s a carrot they hold out to keep employees around longer.”
“You’ve worked for these people before, then?”
Nodding, she sipped her tea. “Lots of times. I work when I’m not going to college.”
“College?”
She lifted her chin again at that determined angle. At some point the dark hair she’d pulled back into a bun had come loose, and feathery strands kissed the slender column of her neck. “I’m going to be the first person in my whole family who’s ever graduated from a university. I’ve completed 136 units at Cal State L.A.”
“That’s a lot of units.” More than Griffin had, and he had a degree.
“I would have graduated already but I keep changing my major. And they keep changing the requirements.”
“That can set you back, all right.”
“So I’ve still got a year or so to go. And now with the baby—” she shrugged “—it may take me a little longer.”
Maybe she should have thought about that before she agreed to have some other woman’s baby. Gritfin didn’t want anything to do with Loretta and her sob story. He certainly didn’t want her as his butler. But he couldn’t exactly throw her out on her ear in the middle of the night.
“Look, Miss Santana—”
“You can call me Loretta, if you like. They said in my accelerated butler’s class that was okay, if my employer found it easier.”
“Yeah, well...” Damn, he really hated firing people even when they were incompetent. So far, at least, Loretta hadn’t done anything wrong. “The truth is, I don’t actually need a butler.”
“Of course you do. Rodgers assured me—in confidence, you understand—that there are days when you wouldn’t be able to manage without him. You’re not terribly well organized, I gather.”
Griffin scowled. “Rodgers said that?”
“Oh, yes. But you mustn’t worry that I’ll let you down. I’m the most organized person I know.” She appeared quite confident.
He wasn’t convinced. “I still don’t think—”
The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it.” Loretta hopped up, bumping the table in the process with her oversize belly and tipping over her cup of tea. “Oh, dear, I’ll wipe that up in a minute. You leave it for me.”
“Why don’t I answer the door while you take care of—”
“No, no. Answering the door is my job. They taught me just what to do.”
Taught her to answer a door? If that’s what she learned in the accelerated class, Griffin could barely imagine what a slow course might include.
He heard the door open and Loretta greet his visitor.
“I’m truly sorry you didn’t call first, miss,” Loretta said. “Mr. Jones has a dreadful cold, and I don’t think it would be wise for him to have guests this evening.”
A feminine voice he couldn’t quite make out responded.
“Now, wait a minute,” he muttered, heading for the front of the house. His cold, such as it was, wasn’t that bad.
“I’m sure you understand Mr. Jones is only thinking of your well-being. He wouldn’t want to expose you to a virus that might take weeks for your immune system to throw off.”
Griffin spotted a willowy redhead at the door, a soap opera starlet who was making a big splash on the social scene. He’d been trying for weeks to date her.
“Aileen, hi, there. It’s good to see you. Come on in.” He tried to ease Loretta aside. She didn’t budge from her post at the door.
Aileen eyed him with regal disdain before sending Loretta a cutting look intended to cause a mere mortal to bleed profusely. “I don’t recall ever getting such an interesting brush-off before, Griffin.”
“No, you don’t understand. She’s my butler.”
“Really? How terribly convenient for you.” Turning, she floated back down the steps, gracefully exiting the scene.
Griffin swore under his breath and followed her to her flashy Porsche. He tried to talk to Aileen, to make her understand, but the best he got was “By all means, call me when your butler returns from England. If he ever does.”
The car roared off down the driveway, rattling across the planks of the twenty-foot-long bridge over the creek at the bottom of the hill.
Griffin fumed and marched back up the steps.
He glared at Loretta. “Do you know what you just did? I’ve been trying to date that woman for weeks.”
“Well, you certainly wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on her, then, by giving her your cold. That’d be terrible. She’d be overwhelmed by all those nasty little oxidants, her yin and yang would have a terrible battle, and then where would you be?”
He didn’t have a good answer for that as she breezily went back to the kitchen to clean up the spilled tea and make him some chicken soup.
Having Loretta Santana as his butler was definitely going to be hard on his love life.
Damn, he’d vowed years ago—at his mother’s funeral—that he’d never put a woman at risk by getting her pregnant. Irrational as it might seem to someone else, that’s how he felt. And he’d been especially careful. He’d always played the field, with women who understood marriage and having kids weren’t in the cards if they hung around with him.
Now, to his dismay, he had a pregnant woman on his hands. He didn’t want to be responsible. But he damn well didn’t know how to get rid of her.
Chapter Two
Griffin stretched and untangled himself from the bed sheets. To his surprise he felt a helluva lot better than he had last night. His sore throat was gone, his head clear. Amazing what a good night’s sleep could do for a man. Not for a minute did he attribute his miraculous cure to the herbal tea or chicken soup he’d consumed.
He frowned, recalling the scene at the front door last night and his new butler’s offhanded dismissal of Aileen Roquette. If it hadn’t been for Loretta Santana he might not have awakened alone in his bed this morning.
Rolling to his feet, he strolled to the window. The southern California sun cast early-morning shadows through the oaks and pines that surrounded his property, tinting summer-dried grass to a golden brown. Though less than an hour from downtown L.A., Topanga Canyon had a rural flavor. Along the winding canyon road, houses varied from modest homes to opulent residences sporting ten thousand square feet of living space. His was on the high end of the scale.
Finger combing his sleep-mussed hair, he scanned the redwood decking that circled three-quarters of the house and cantilevered out over the canyon. In a column of cool winter sunlight, Loretta sat crosslegged gazing toward the distant hillside.
Griffin’s lips twitched with the threat of a smile. In this light she looked like a cross between a delicate, dark-haired wood nymph and a chubby Buddha. Grimly he remembered he had to find some way to send her back to wherever she had come from.
He grabbed a pair of walking shorts from the closet, tugged them on and strolled outside. The mild air brushed against his bare legs and chest, promising a day that would grow much warmer, even though the calendar read early December.
Leaning back against the deck railing, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you meditate every morning?”
Slowly she opened her eyes and a little smile played around her lips. Kissable lips, he thought, momentarily caught off guard by her serene expression.
“I learned to meditate while I was working as a temp for the Transcendental Psychic Society. The technique’s really helpful to keep your free radicals from escaping.” She frowned and shrugged. “Or maybe they’re supposed to escape. I forget which. But meditation is really good for you.”
He had the distinct impression Loretta spoke an entirely different language than he did. “Is the society where you learned about ions and oxidants?”
“No, I learned that while I was working at a health food store.”
She tried to get up but couldn’t manage the right leverage. Griffin caught her arm to help her up before she turtled onto her back and was stuck there indefinitely. Her bones were so delicate; how could she carry the extra weight of the baby? He was amazed once again by her hidden strength, and a little bit scared by the risk her pregnancy posed.
Why the heck had she showed up on his doorstep?
“Thanks.” She flushed, her voice breathy. Glancing away from him, she dusted the back of her dark pants off with her hand. “I probably would have learned more but they fired me after two weeks.”
“The health food store?”
Nodding, she smiled sheepishly. “They caught me eating a Big Mac and fries in the stockroom.”
He swallowed a laugh. “That does seem a little sacrilegious.”
“They could have given me a second chance, though,” she said seriously. “I’d only been there two weeks and they shouldn’t expect a person to go cold turkey like that when it comes to junk food. I mean, they didn’t even want anybody to eat chocolate.”
“They probably had to maintain their standards.”
“That’s what they told me.” She shrugged, apparently unaware of how that made her breasts rise and fall in a very intriguing way. “I’ll get your breakfast now. I’ve got hand-squeezed orange juice for you, and I sent out early for papayas and strawberries to mix in. That’ll get your enzymes back on track.”
“I’m fine this morning.” Though he’d had an interesting reaction to her reference to hand-squeezed which had nothing to do with orange juice. “Why don’t you just bring me a cup of coffee and we can sit here and talk a minute.”
“Coffee?” She lifted a censuring brow.
“Yes, coffee. Caffeinated, if you please. If you’re offended by my asking you to bring me coffee, I’ll fix it myself.”
“Of course I’m not offended,” she said in a huff. “They taught me—”
“—in your accelerated butler classes. Coffee, Loretta. Now.”
Loretta hustled into the kitchen. Every bit of the calm she’d managed to gain through her meditation had flown right smack off the deck when she’d opened her eyes to discover Griffin standing there.
A man ought to know better than to show up first thing in the morning practically naked. And then to start giving her orders. For pity’s sake! How was she supposed to concentrate while she stared at that broad chest of his with its fascinating swirls of springy brown curls? Or when she surreptitiously glanced at his muscular legs roughened by the same intriguing hair. She wasn’t a saint. For heaven’s sake, the man gave her ideas she shouldn’t even be considering. Not in her advanced state of pregnancy. Not at all, she sternly reminded herself while trying to forget the warm feel of his hand on her elbow, steadying her.
She knew he was a megamillionaire, which didn’t trouble her one way or the other. The fact that he’d been plastered on the cover of grocery store tabloids as a big-time playboy did. Maybe she hadn’t recognized his name or his face immediately. But the truth had come to her the moment Miss Redheaded-Doll-Face had shown up at the door.
Some impulsive, protective instinct had made her want to close the door in the woman’s face. He deserved better than a bit actress who was about to be written out of a minor role in a mediocre soap by the hunky, dark-eyed villain popping her off in a fit of jealous rage. Loretta was certainly familiar with the storyline of the soap in question and could see what was coming.
Griffin Jones would simply have to be more discriminating about whom he dated while Loretta was in his employ. No doubt he would thank her eventually.
Which he would never have a chance to do if she didn’t get his breakfast out to him in a hurry and he fired her before he got his mainline morning dose of caffeine. Rodgers had indicated their employer could be a grouch before he got his coffee. Loretta wasn’t eager to test the waters.
Minutes later she carried a tray out to the deck—a generous pot of strong, black coffee, juice and homemade whole wheat date muffins slathered in let’s-pretend butter. Now was assuredly the time to impress her boss.
“There you go, sir. The perfect beginning to your day. Fifty-two percent of your daily minimum requirements for A, C, E, B—”
“It looks delicious.” Griffin waved her to sit down. Breakfast did look good and smelled even better. He took a sip of coffee. The caffeine jolted him with a sharp wake-up call, and he relaxed momentarily to enjoy the scenery—including his dark-eyed butler. “You’re not eating?”
“I had my breakfast ages ago. I’m usually an early riser.”
“I see.” He broke off a bite of muffin and watched the steam rise. She might not be acceptable as an employee of a health food store, but she knew a helluva lot about baking bread. “Do you live somewhere, Loretta? I mean, do you have an apartment where you stay when you’re, ah, not here?”
“I had a place. After Isabella died I gave it up, knowing I’d need the extra money. I moved back home with Mama.”
Ah, then she did have somewhere to go if he fired her.
“Of course, when I learned I’d have this job with you and would be living here, I gave up my room to my niece Patrice and her husband. They’ve got three kids plus one on the way and needed a place to stay while they’re doing a huge remodeling job on their house. More bedrooms, you know?”
So much for that plan. “It must be pretty crowded at your mother’s house with five additional people.”
“It’s not so bad. Of course, she has Enrico there—he’s my youngest brother and still in high school. Tía Louisa has lived with us for ages. She’s my great-aunt twice removed. A wonderful woman who does beautiful tatting.”
“Tatting?” he asked, distracted.
“It’s like lace except stringier. She makes up hope chests full of her tatting for all us girls. For our wedding presents, you know.”
He nodded as if he understood. He didn’t. “So if you went home now—”
“I’d have to sleep on the couch.”
Griffin’s eyes crossed. A pregnant woman shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch. It couldn’t be healthy. Desperately he drained the rest of the coffee from his cup.
“You want some more?” she asked graciously.
“Yes, please.” It was more a groan than a request. Dammit all! He was a business executive running a multimillion-dollar corporation with retail stores in the ten western states. This little waif of a female shouldn’t have him so far off balance with her whimsical stories, floating oxidants and the feeling he was responsible for her. Maybe he ought to hire her to work in one of his stores. That way she’d at least be out from underfoot. “Tell me, Loretta, do you know anything about computers or electronics?”
She poured from the pot on the tray. “Oh, sure. Lots. What would you like to know?”
Relief surged through him. There was a way out of the maze he’d found himself in.
“I play Nintendo with my nephew all the time,” she continued brightly. “Of course, he beats me most days, but I’m getting better.” She looked at Griffin with so much enthusiasm, he didn’t want to be the one to quash her spirit. But what the hell could she be majoring in to have a hundred and thirty-something units and not know squat about computers? Unless she was putting him on.
“When is your baby due?” he asked. A hopeless sense of futility settled over him. No way was he going to be able to get rid of this woman.
“Four weeks. And it’s only three weeks until I’m eligible for the insurance I need. See how well things work out when God is on your side?”
The headache that had only been a threat last night stabbed him right between his eyes. “You’re right.” He shoved back from the table. “I’ve got to go into the office.”
“On a Saturday?” she gasped.
“Yeah, on a Saturday.” If it had been Christmas Day, he would have gone into work to get away from the craziness that had invaded his home. Besides, he really did have work to do. He suspected his uncle Matt and his competitive electronics outlets were somehow diverting Compuware shipments to their own Compuworks stores. He needed to track back through the records to see if that was a possibility and if he had a spy in his own firm. The holidays were their busiest season, the sales during the month before Christmas representing a huge percentage of the annual gross. Losses now couldn’t be made up later. The industry changed too fast for second chances.
Loretta staggered to her feet, out of balance because of her swollen abdomen. “I put your car away in the garage for you last night. Rodgers said it shouldn’t be left out. Vandals and thieves, you know.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll be late getting home. Don’t worry about dinner for me.” With luck, he might be able to recoup his losses with Aileen.
Upstairs he showered, shaved and dressed casually for his day at work. He hated wearing suits, but the job required it of him when he was dealing with suppliers. Not so on Saturday.
Feeling refreshed, he went downstairs, hit the button for the garage door opener and gazed in dismay at the dented front bumper and broken headlight on his prize Mercedes 450SL.
“Loretta!” he bellowed.
Loretta winced. She’d known he was going to yell at her. She didn’t have to like it.
“I’m coming!” She sped up her waddle to a near run, hurrying to the garage. She couldn’t remember seeing a man truly glower before, all deep lines and grooves that turned his face into a mask of fury. Not until now.
“Would you care to tell me what happened to my car? My classic car?” he added tightly.
“I don’t want you to worry about a thing, Mr. Jones. My brother has promised he’ll fix—”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d practically totaled my car?”
“Now if you’ll just be calm, Mr. Jones. Your electrolytes are going to get all in a flurry—”
“Miss Santana!”
She swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
“I want to know how you managed to do that much damage moving my car less than a hundred feet from the front of the house where I parked it into the garage.”
“I couldn’t find the light switch.”
He looked at her blankly. “What light switch?”
“For the headlights, of course. I’ve never driven a Mercedes before. And then when I tried to drive it into the garage—per Rodgers’s very specific instructions—my foot got caught in the hem of my nightgown. I was trying to unhook that when I kind of stepped on the gas pedal with my other foot. That’s when the potted palm over there practically leaped out in front of your car.”
Griffin closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He was not going to lose his temper. Nor was he going to picture Loretta running around outside in the middle of the night in a nightgown.
“You really don’t have to worry about a thing,” she assured him. “Roberto is going to come pick up your car any minute now.”
“Roberto?”
“My brother. He does wonderful car repairs. Your Mercedes will be right as rain in no time.”
“I think I’d rather take it to the dealership that knows how to handle these classic cars. Thanks, anyway.”
“Oh, but Roberto will only charge you half as much as one of those fancy-shmancy dealerships would.”
“I’ve got insurance.”
“All the more reason why you should let Roberto do the work. A dealership would overcharge you, and your insurance rates would go up. You’d end up paying two or three times as much as you would if you had just let Roberto take care of things in the first place.”
Griffin knew there was a hole in her logic somewhere. He just couldn’t put his finger on it at the moment. The image of her dancing around his driveway in a see-through negligee was like a looping videotape in his brain that he couldn’t switch off.
“Besides, Roberto is family,” she said with the same finality that an archeologist would use to announce he’d found the key to the Dead Sea Scrolls.
He glanced at the crumpled fender and broken headlight. “When is your brother coming?”
“Any minute now. He had to fix his tow truck first.”
Somehow that did not bode well for the future. But Griffin didn’t have the time or energy to stand around arguing with his pregnant butler about who was going to repair his convertible—the only car he owned at the moment. “Look, I’ve got to get to the office. I’ll call a cab—”
“Don’t be silly. You can use my car. I’m not going anywhere today.”
He followed her gaze toward the far end of the four-car garage. A battered compact sat just beyond the last doorway. From what he could see, the vehicle had been cobbled together out of junkyard parts, each fender a different color and a trunk lid that was tied closed with a rope. He never should have sold his Rolls....
“Does it run?” he asked.
“Oh, sure. Like a top. Roberto keeps it going for me.” She produced a key from her pocket just as a tow truck came roaring up the driveway, smoke belching from the tailpipe. The driver backed it around, end first toward the damaged vehicle.
Griffin coughed at the fumes. “Maybe we ought to switch to plan B.”
“He’ll do a wonderful job. You’ll see.”
Hurrying over to the truck, Loretta gave her brother a hug when he climbed out.
“Hey, sis, is that the guy you’re living with?” Roberto asked, eyeing Griffin with the protective instincts of a big brother.
“I’m not living with him, not like you mean,” she protested.
“Yeah, well Mama’s not too thrilled about you moving in with some stranger. You oughta be home where she can keep an eye on you, Lori.”
“There’s no room. Not with Patrice living there. Besides, I need the money.”
“All the same, it just don’t look right, you shacking up with some guy nobody knows.”
“I’m not shacking up with him. I’m his butler. Besides, he’s got so many girlfriends, he wouldn’t give me the time of day, even if I were interested. Which I’m not.” No way could Loretta compete with women like that Miss Redhead person. Not that she’d want to. And given her advanced pregnancy, she didn’t imagine any man, most certainly not a well-known millionaire playboy, would give her a second thought Even if she’d want him to. Which she didn’t.
“Any guy would be lucky to have you, sis. Everybody in the family says so.” Roberto waved to Griffin and called to him. “I’ll have your wheels hooked up and outta here in a minute.”
“Fne,” Griffin said. “Just be careful. I’d just as soon you didn’t do any more damage than has already been done.”
“No problema. Since you’re a friend of Lori’s, I’ll even give you a tune-up. No charge.” With another wave, he scooted under the Mercedes to hook up the towing cable, leaving only his overall-clad legs and his work boots sticking out.
Griffin came closer. “Look, I still think it’d be smart to call a dealership. I wouldn’t want anything—”
“You worry too much, Mr. Jones. Roberto’s practically a genius when it comes to cars.”
Her employer didn’t look convinced.
Roberto scooted back out from under the Mercedes and hopped to his feet. “Piece of cake,” he said with a cocky grin.
He flipped the lever up on the hydraulic lift and stood back to watch. Slowly the rear end of the car rose and edged toward the truck. It was a beautiful convertible, all shining silver-blue with lots of chrome, colors that matched the owner’s strikingly attractive eyes. Loretta could hardly believe she’d actually had a chance to drive the car, albeit right into a potted palm.
Griffin’s stress level grew more palpable with each inch the car rose above the driveway. He really ought to increase his intake of vitamin E, Loretta concluded. Or maybe it was vitamin B he needed. She’d have to be sure he had plenty of both. Clearly, he was suffering from too much tension in his life.
At the instant that thought came to her, something went wrong with the hydraulic lift. With a pop, oil squirted out, spraying all over the Mercedes and pooling on the concrete driveway. The car shook precariously for a moment, then dropped with a crash, the back colliding with the industrial-strength bumper of the tow truck.
Metal squealed. The Mercedes’s bumper twisted, coming lose from its mooring and jutting up at an odd angle.
Cringing, Loretta wished she could crawl into a hole right there in the middle of the driveway. But when she met Griffin’s furious gaze, she knew that even a hole dug all the way to China wouldn’t be deep enough to protect her from his righteous anger.
Her only choice was to do a whole lot of fancy talking. And do it in a hurry.
Chapter Three
Griffin couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to be talked out of having Roberto arrested for assault and battery on his Mercedes. Reckless mayhem, at the very least.
Worse, he’d permitted the incompetent fool to tow his prize car away. Probably to the nearest metal shredder, he thought grimly.
It had been Loretta’s tears that had done him in. That and her crazy insistence that he was upset only because his yin and yang had gotten out of balance. What he needed was megadoses of vitamins B and E, she assured him between quivering lips.
Now, how could any reasonable man argue with a combination like that? Particularly when he was scared spitless if she got too upset she might have her baby right there on his driveway.
He pulled into his parking spot at the headquarters of Compuware, and Loretta’s ancient relic of a car lurched to a stop. He turned off the ignition. For several beats the old Datsun kept on chuffing. Grimacing, he hoped no one had seen him drive up. If he had any sense, he’d park it a block away and hope somebody would steal the damn thing. It wouldn’t do much for his image as a corporate executive and playboy millionaire to be seen driving this crate around town.
Not that he cared a whole lot, he thought with a grin, thinking about his imp of a butler. He couldn’t remember any woman who’d been so unimpressed with his wealth, much less that he was also her employer. Family was the only thing that counted with her—in this case, her brother, her long-suffering mother, Tía Louisa and a half-dozen other relatives who were counting on Roberto to help support them with his fledgling auto repair service. A virtual army of loved ones Griffin hadn’t been able to fight.
He didn’t suppose he had that many relations in the entire universe.
The one he did have—Uncle Matt—wasn’t high on his list of people he owed favors. Ten years ago Matt and Griffin’s father had had a falling out. A feud had started, eventually ending in Matt breaking up the Compuware partnership to start his own company. In the process he nearly bankrupted the firm. The rivalry was still bitter.
Even so long after the split, Griffin felt a sense of betrayal. Matt had been his favorite uncle—his only one on his father’s side of the family. He’d had to remain loyal to his dad but dammit all, neither one of them had given a darn about him. And he’d loved them both.
Griffin used his key to let himself in the door of Compuware’s headquarters building, which fronted on Washington Boulevard with the warehouse in back. His footsteps echoed across the empty lobby, and he took the stairs to the third floor.
Almost the moment he’d set foot in his office, Ralph Brainerd showed up.
“Have you seen this, Jonesy?” His executive vice president tossed a copy of an early edition of the Saturday LA. Times on his cluttered oak desk. It was folded open to an advertisement for Compuworks, the competition.
Griffin scanned it quickly. “They’re beating our prices by twenty to fifty dollars on almost every item. How can they do that and make any money?”
“There’s worse news.”
“On a day like this?” A day when he’d watched his Mercedes practically being bent in half? “Why am I not surprised?”
“One of our delivery trucks took a header off an overpass in Simi Valley. Turned about two hundred computers, monitors and printers into scrap.”
He swore under his breath. “How’s the driver?”
“Battered but okay. He’ll be off work a couple of weeks. The truck’s totaled. I’ve called the insurance people.”
“Right.” Griffin sat down in his swivel chair, tilting it back. The springs squeaked. “So tell me how come Compuworks undercuts us every time? They can’t be buying from the suppliers any cheaper than we are.”
A wiry man with the physique of a cross-country runner, Brainy-Brainerd hooked a hip on the corner of Griffin’s desk. They’d gone to high school together, Ralph the brains of the duo. Later they’d worked side by side in Compuware’s warehouse, sweeping floors and running forklifts. “Maybe the old man isn’t interested in making money anymore.”
An unlikely possibility, given the way Griffin’s father had ranted on about Uncle Matt being so greedy. “It’s like they know what our bottom-line prices are going to be and knock off just enough to make it a better deal.”
“Seems that way.” He weighed a letter opener in his hand, rolling it back and forth in his palm.
“So how do they find out, Brainy? Who’s telling ’em?”
Brainy shrugged. “You figure we’ve got a spy?”
“It’s possible.” Griffin only knew for sure that he’d cut about as much waste as he could from Compuware’s operation, and he still wasn’t meeting Uncle Matt’s prices. Any more cuts, and he and Brainy would be back working shifts in the warehouse themselves.
“You want me to have advertising gin up an ad for next week to meet these prices?”
“That would almost be too late in the season to do any good.” Leaning forward, he studied the newspaper spread in front of him. Instead of an array of computers and accessories, he saw Loretta’s impish face and innocent brown eyes staring back at him. Her knowledge of computers was limited to playing Nintendo with a nephew. Even in this day and age, a lot of people didn’t know computer basics. That thought sparked an idea that would advance his company over the competition.
“Compuware and Compuworks are like two dogs fighting over the same bone. What we need is to develop a new market, people who never thought they would buy a computer. They’re scared of the technology, and they don’t have much money.”
He looked up at his buddy. “I want them to come to our stores to buy everything they need to enter the twenty-first century. We’ll offer no down payment, extended credit and hands-on help getting started. If they’ve even been thinking about getting a computer for their family for a Christmas gift, they won’t be able to resist our deal.”
“We could lose our shirts doing that.”
“Or it could give us an edge over Uncle Matt.”
He and Ralph talked about the idea for a while, finally deciding to get an advertising campaign rolling in a hurry. With luck, they could draw business away from Compuworks and entice new customers at the same time.
“So how’d it go with Aileen last night?” Ralph asked after they’d concluded their business. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Tell me all, boss man. Is she as good in the sack as she looks?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he grumbled. “My butler discouraged her from sticking around.”
“Rodgers?”
“No, my new butler. Say, you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?” Griffin was still having trouble believing the agency would have sent Loretta to him, though once she set her mind on something she was a hard person to discourage.
“Not me. I didn’t even know Rodgers had quit.”
“He hasn’t. He’s on vacation.”
Ralph gathered up the newspapers from Griffin’s desk and the notes he’d taken. “So the new guy sent Aileen away?”
“It’s a gal, not a guy.”
“Your butler?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re kidding.” Ralph laughed. “Some guys have all the luck. Is she a looker?”
Griffin contemplated the question for a moment. Certainly Loretta wasn’t as willowy as Aileen or most of the women he dated. Not as sophisticated, either. She’d probably never been to one of the hot, upscale nightclubs in town. He doubted she’d ever attended theater openings or the Emmy Awards. Yet something about her striking features, dark liquid eyes and easy smile suggested her unique beauty went more than skin-deep.
But she was pregnant with another man’s child, he reminded himself. Hell, with another woman’s child, for that matter. And that made her off limits even if he might otherwise have been interested.
Griffin Jones was a long way from wanting to be tied down with a family, particularly a family with aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings that appeared to multiply faster than a computer virus.
“Let’s just say I’m planning to mend some fences with Aileen today,” he said. “If I can get her up to my place again, the results will be different this time.”
Ralph grinned knowingly. “Good luck, boss man.
When he left, Griffin picked up the phone. If he could convince Aileen to have dinner with him, he’d consider that he’d turned a miserable day into a successful one.
Loretta had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when the phone rang. Drying her hands on a paper towel, she answered in her most professional voice. “Jones residence, the butler speaking.”
“Hey, Lori. How’s it going?”
“Oh, hi, Brenna,” she said, smiling as she recognized her cousin’s voice. Stretching the cord across the kitchen, she opened the cupboard under the counter and tossed the paper towel in the trash compactor. “How’d you find me here?”
“Your mom said you had a new job. Is it true what they say about your boss?”
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Charlotte Maclay
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: IN THE FAMILY WAY…When lovely Loretta Santana signed on as Griffin Jones′s temporary butler, the wealthy playboy discovered he suddenly had a few unexpected problems. One: his petite new butler was a she. Two: she was pregnant. Three: she was eight months pregnant and soon to be a single mom….All Loretta had wanted was to earn a month′s fair wages before her Christmas delivery arrived–until she fell for her debonair employer′s considerable charms. And it didn′t help that the wedding-wary bachelor′s protective instincts lurched into overdrive–but could Loretta convince the acting daddy-to-be to take on that role for a lifetime?