Home > Executive's Pregnancy Ultimatum (Kings of the Boardroom #2)(14)

Executive's Pregnancy Ultimatum (Kings of the Boardroom #2)(14)
Author: Emilie Rose

“Melody’s gone.”

Another man with woman troubles. What was that old cliché? Women, can’t live with them, can’t live without them. They were a blessing and curse. “Temporarily or permanently?”

“I don’t know.”

“Any idea where she went?”


“Been there, done that, man. You have my sympathy. Will you look for her?”

Ash pivoted abruptly. “Hell no. We were never going to be anything but short-term, anyway. I’ve been paying her way through law school, but she’s probably found another sucker.”

“That sucks, man. Losing a woman you love—”

“I never said I loved her. I don’t. I’m just pissed off.”

“Right.” Denial was a wonderful thing. Flynn had fed on denial and anger for years after Renee left. “If you need anything—even if it’s a designated driver while you drink yourself into oblivion—I’m your man.”

Ash’s drawn and pale face stared back at him. The guy might claim he wasn’t hurting, but his eyes told a different story.

Flynn imagined he’d probably looked the same when Renee left the first time. But that was then. He intended to right the wrong he’d committed and repair his marriage. And while he’d love to have a long-term relationship with Renee and have several more children with her, he couldn’t afford to love as wholeheartedly as he once had.

He’d save his love for his child or children if he could talk her into more. At least they wouldn’t leave him until college time.


T urning into Flynn’s driveway in her new van shouldn’t have been an aphrodisiac, but for Renee, it was. She knew they’d have sex tonight. And only sex. There would be no bonding. Just sweaty, satisfying, exhilarating fulfillment.

Familiar signs of arousal took control of her body: accelerated pulse rate, flushed skin, shortness of breath, excessive moisture in her mouth. Her hands shook as she pocketed her car keys and climbed the brick steps to the front door.

She let herself in and silence greeted her. She should have checked the garage for Flynn’s car. And then she noticed the spicy, garlicky, tomatoey scent in the air. Something Italian. Mama G’s lasagna? She sniffed again and smelled the yeasty scent of dough. No. Papa G’s pizza. Renee’s mouth watered for an entirely different reason, and her stomach rumbled in anticipation.

No one made pizza as well as Papa G, and she and Flynn had ordered many of them for takeout when their renovations had left them too grungy for dining out or too tired to cook.

“Flynn?” She followed her nose to the kitchen and found it empty. A note on the table caught her eye. Trying not to think about what they’d done on that table twenty-four hours ago, she snatched up the page and turned her back on the scene of the crime—the crime being in the heat of the moment she’d temporarily lost sight of her goal. A baby and a clean break.

“Come to the basement,” Flynn had written.

Had he started work on her kitchen already? Dumping her purse on the counter, she hurried downstairs. He wasn’t in the area designated for CGC. “Flynn?”

“In here,” he called from the storage room across the hall.

She heard an old home-restoration program playing on the TV as she approached. At her touch, the door dragged over carpeting that hadn’t been here seven years ago. She scanned the gym equipment filling the space. Some kind of weight equipment with four stations occupied the center of the room flanked by an exercise bike on a rubber mat on the left and an electric treadmill on the right.

Flynn stood in front of a wide, flat-panel television mounted on the wall. He wore faded jeans and a snug white T-shirt and work boots. A leather tool belt hung on his hips, accentuating his muscular butt. Her heart stalled at the sexy, familiar sight.

He turned and extended his arms. “What do you think?”

That he looked delicious.

He tossed a small black object at her. She snapped out of her daze, caught it and identified a remote control. “I didn’t know you’d turned this room into a home gym.”

“I hadn’t until today. You can watch your cooking shows while you work out.”

Surprised and touched by his thoughtfulness, she gasped. “You did this for me?”

He nodded. “I ordered the equipment the day after you moved in. They delivered it today.”

A little of the wall she’d built around her heart crumbled. This was the old Flynn, the one who’d routinely surprised her with thoughtful, considerate gestures or gifts. The one she’d fallen in love with so long ago. She swallowed to ease the lump in her throat and reminded herself to guard her heart.

“This is incredibly nice, Flynn, but I could have rejoined the gym.”

“Your favorite gym closed. The closest facility isn’t as nice, and you always hated fighting for a parking space.”

She grimaced at the memory of how she used to seize on any opportunity to avoid exercise. But that had been back when she was young enough to eat anything and not gain an ounce. When she’d passed thirty her body had changed. As much as she liked the wisdom that came with getting older, there were some parts of maturing she could do without.

“Well, yes, but…you didn’t have to go to this expense. Thank you.”

He pointed to an empty corner. “There’s room over there for a playpen or crib. For after the baby.”

Her head spun with images of Flynn’s hands splayed over her swollen belly, working out beside her while she tried to get back in shape, of him cradling their tiny infant in his big, gentle hands.

A knot of emotion rose in her throat. “I—I hope you’ll use some of the equipment, too.”

“I will. Especially this.” He straddled the weight bench. His thick biceps flexed as he pulled down on the bar hanging over his head.

She wanted him. Like this. Relaxed. Sexy. The old Flynn.

Her feet felt weighted as she crossed the room to his side and bent to kiss him. He let her take the lead, let her move her lips over his, waited for her tongue to slip into his mouth and caress his before he responded without releasing the weight bar. His tongue dueled with hers.

Her pulse raced as she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and gently nipped the tender flesh. He grunted his approval. She lifted her head. Passion widened his pupils, the black almost obliterating his blue irises.

He shook his head. “As much as I would love to take you right here, right now, we’re not rushing tonight. This time I want you in my bed. Naked, wet and breathless.”

Desire made her dizzy. “You have two out of three already.”

His nostrils flared, then a dangerous, naughty smile curved his lips. “Dinner first.”

He exploded off the bench and brushed past her, leaving her staring at his gorgeous backside. And hungry. But not for Papa G’s delicious pizza.

She wanted Flynn as badly as she ever had.

Flynn’s muscles were so tense he could barely swallow. Dinner had been one long foreplay session.

With an imp of mischief lurking in her face, Renee had lingered over her food, licking dots of sauce from the corner of her mouth and fingertips and nibbling on errant, gooey strings of cheese or fallen slices of pepperoni.

He wanted that mouth on him, that talented pink tongue licking his lips, instead of hers. The moment she pushed her plate away, he shot to his feet, grabbed the dishes and dumped them in the sink. The scrape of her chair brought him around.

She stood by the kitchen door. Sexual hunger darkened her eyes to almost purple. Without a word she peeled her sweater over her head, dropped it on the floor and then pivoted and sauntered down the center hall to the stairs—the same way she’d retreated last night, only this time her invitation was clear in every sexy sway of her hips.

He smiled at the familiar game, and the needle of his body compass pointed north. In the early days, coming home to a bra on the foyer floor had been one hell of a welcome and the promise of a hot night ahead. When they’d wanted to make love he and Renee used to leave trails of clothing like bread crumbs leading to their location of choice. But somewhere along the way, they’d quit playing with each other and merely coexisted in the same space.

The blame for that rested solely on his shoulders. He’d been the one too exhausted to accept her sexy invitations. The disappointment he’d seen on her face when he refused had led him to sleep at the office a bit too often. He’d been so afraid of failing at work he couldn’t tolerate the possibility of failing at home, too. In the end, his fear had become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But not anymore. He had control of all aspects of his life—all aspects except his relationship with Renee. And if he felt a mild sense of discontent, then as soon as he had his marriage under control, that dissatisfaction would disappear.

He sat down long enough to untie and remove his work boots and socks, and then he followed her. Her bra draped the newel post, a pink lacy scrap of almost nothing. He scooped it up and sniffed her scent. The fabric still carried the warmth of her body. He could see his fingers through the cups. Halfway up the staircase she’d left one shoe. A few treads higher he spotted the other. He shucked his shirt and draped it over the banister. It slid down. He didn’t care. Her pants puddled on the landing. He dropped his on top of them, then paused.

Which bedroom? His or hers?

The pink panties hanging on his doorknob provided the answer. Grinning, he strode toward the trail marker and hooked the lacy garment with his finger. They smelled of her. He pushed open the door. Renee reclined on a pile of pillows in the middle of his big bed with one knee bent to hide her blond curls, but that didn’t make the sight of his wife, curvy and nak*d on his sheets, any less inviting or arousing.

He dangled her lingerie from his fingers. “Next time I want to see you in these. Then I’ll take them off you.”

She licked her lips, and he could practically feel her tongue on his erection. Heat pumped through him. Her gaze raked him, pausing at his tented boxers. “One of us is overdressed.”

He dropped her undergarments, shoved his boxers down his legs and kicked them aside, then slowly stalked toward the bed. Looking his fill, he stretched out on the mattress beside her, but he didn’t touch her. Not yet. Once he did he wouldn’t be able to stop. A flush of arousal pinkened her cheeks, chest and br**sts. Her n**ples contracted under his scrutiny, and her stomach quivered slightly with each shallow breath she took.

He ached to be inside her, to pound his way to release, but he’d promised himself he’d take it slow and remind Renee how amazingly perfect they were together before letting go.

He twisted a blond ringlet around his finger, then released it to stroke her cheek, her nose, the softness of her parted lips. “I’ve missed this. Us.”

Her breath hitched. She captured his hand, guiding it to her breast. The soft globe filled his palm, the pebbled tip pressing into him. He rolled the point between his fingers, drawing a whimper from her. Her lids fluttered closed. Propped on one elbow, he bent and replaced his fingers with his mouth, leaving his hand free to explore her other breast, her smooth stomach, her long legs and damp curls. She was already moist and hot. Need fisted in his abdomen.

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