The Mogul's Maybe Marriage Read Free Page A

goodness she’d taken a shower that morning, brushed her teeth, even remembered to floss. She glanced down at her trim navy T-shirt, took a second to fiddle with the button on her jeans, sucking in her breath to camouflage her incipient baby bump. Hecouldn’t tell, could he? Not yet. No one could, she reasoned with herself.
    The doorbell rang again, long and insistent. She set her jaw against the demand. What did Ethan Hartwell want with her? Why had he come now? She thought about not answering, about letting him go away. He could phone her, if he really needed her. Her number was listed.
    But then, she remembered his hazel eyes, the ones that had first snagged her attention at the Eastern. She remembered his rich voice, reverberating to the marrow of her bones. She remembered his broad palms, curving around her hips, pulling her closer…?.
    She threw open the double locks, just as he was raising his fist to knock.
    â€œEthan,” she said, proud that her voice was steady, bright, with just the perfect brush of surprise.
    â€œSloane.” He lowered his hand to his side. His eyes flared as he took in her face, as if he were confirming a memory. He licked his lips, and then he produced the same devastating smile that had completely sunk her back at the hotel. “May I come in?”
    Silently, she stepped to the side. She caught his scent as he strode past her, something like pine needles under moonlight, something utterly, completely male. She waited for a familiar twist of nausea to leap up at the aroma, but she was pleasantly surprised to find that her belly remained calm.
    Not that her body didn’t react to him. Her lips tingled as she sucked in a steadying breath. Her heart raced enough that she half expected him to turn around, to glare at her chest, disturbed by the noise. The thought of his eyes on her chest only stirred her more. She bit herlip as her nipples tightened into pearls, and she crossed her arms over the navy jersey of her shirt.
    Faking a tiny cough, she asked, “Can I get you something to drink?” She couldn’t make him coffee. She didn’t trust her rebellious stomach around the smell as it brewed. “Some tea?” she asked.
    He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m fine.” He strode to her couch as if he owned the place.
    She’d lived in the apartment for nearly three years. In all that time, she’d never realized how small the space really was, how little air there was in the room. She watched his gaze dart toward the diminutive kitchen, to the tiny table with its mismatched pair of chairs, to the narrow counter. He glanced toward her bedroom, and she had a sudden vision of him literally sweeping her off her feet, carrying her through the doorway, easing her onto the double bed’s crumpled sheets.
    She flexed her fingers and reminded herself to breathe. Gesturing at the living room, she said, “Not quite the Eastern, is it?”
    He ignored her question. “You left the foundation.”
    She bridled at his tone. “I didn’t think I needed your permission to change jobs.”
    He ignored her sarcasm. “I tried to reach you there, yesterday morning. All they’d say was that you left a couple of months ago. I guess the auction was your last fling?”
    She flushed. He had no way of knowing that the night they’d spent together was special to her. Precious, in a way that words could never make him understand. Her vulnerability rasped an undertone of challenge across her voice. “Why do you care? Why were you calling me, anyway?”
    In the dim light, his hazel eyes looked black. “Yourname came up in conversation. I wondered how you were doing.”
    â€œMy name came up,” she said, fighting a tangle of disbelief and excitement. “After two and half months? Just like that?” She hated the fact that her voice shook on the last word.
    He closed the distance between them,