Chapter 2

DAKOTA

THE WALLS of the bathroom moved closer together until I couldn’t breathe. I handed the pregnancy test to Sam and fled to the living room, one palm pressed against the ache in my chest. I stared out the window at the blue May sky. His whoop confirmed the results. We were going to have a baby. Shouldn’t I be happier about it? I used to daydream of having Sam’s child, but the thought hadn’t entered my mind at all since we’d tied the knot. I’d been too busy. We were in the middle of launching a new company, Ascension Corporation. Sam had leveraged every penny in our accounts to cover start-up costs and borrowed money from some heavy hitters in the business world. Our first big acquisition was underway, scheduled to close in a few days. I had no time for morning sickness or any of the things that went along with motherhood.

“Look at me.” Sam’s deep voice buzzed in my ear. My skin sizzled, the way it always did when he was near. I studied the miniature people walking on the street below our apartment, afraid he’d see my doubts. “Kota.”

Whenever he said my name in that demanding tone of his, my knees and resolve melted. I turned to face him. Green eyes blazed down at me. Early morning sunlight illuminated the dusting of gold hair on his bare chest and the six-pack of his abdomen above the drawstring of his pajama pants. Even with a crazy work schedule, he managed to fit in a daily gym session, and it showed on his taut physique. I bit my lower lip, overwhelmed by his maleness and my good fortune to have such a perfect specimen as my husband.

“What?” I asked, and trained my attention on the hollow of his throat.

“Talk.” With my chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tipped my head toward him.

“I’m pregnant. There isn’t much more to say.” Speaking the words aloud brought the sting of tears to my eyes. Not bad tears, just emotional, confused, and fearful.

“Don’t shut down, baby.” It was the same tone of voice he used to address his employees; stern and implacable. I stared back at him, barely holding my composure together. The hard line of his jaw softened. I scratched my fingers through the plush stubble then cradled his cheeks between my palms. His lips curved into a smile, and the tension between my shoulders eased.

“I’m not shutting down.” I sighed. “I’m in shock. Aren’t you? Doesn’t this scare you at all?” It was difficult to imagine anything frightening Sam.

“Absolutely. I’m freaking terrified.” One of his arms stole around my waist. The rumble of his baritone vibrated against my ribcage. “But mostly thrilled.”

The clean scent of his body wash wafted up to my nose. I snuggled into his embrace and rested my cheek against his hard chest. “You told me once that you wanted a dozen kids.”

“I do.” His breath puffed against the top of my head. “I want your kids. Your babies. I want to wake up every morning to a house full of screaming, playful rugrats.”

“I don’t know how we’re going to manage one kid, let alone a house full.” I struggled against the tight grasp of his arms. The touch of his mouth to the curve of my neck tightened my nipples into painful points, and I willingly gave up the struggle.

“We’ll manage.” One of his hands found my breast and cupped it through the soft cotton of the T-shirt. His thumb brushed over the hard nub. “If I had my way, you’d be pregnant and barefoot for the rest of our lives.”

“Oh, really?” Despite my misgivings, I had to grin. The notion stirred up my girlish fantasies. A picture of cherubic blond toddlers danced through my head. Baby Samuels. I gazed into his eyes. Heat and desire blazed in their depths. A kaleidoscope of emerald, gold, and sapphire flecks stared back at me. Long fingers tightened their grip on my hip.

“Yes.” Sam’s teeth latched onto my skin in a gentle but unquestioning show of male dominance. I shivered and pressed into him, needing more. “There’s nothing I want more than to hold my own child. Our child. Our flesh and blood.” I lifted an arm and threaded my fingers into his hair. The silky blond locks caressed my skin. His lips nibbled my shoulder. “Take off those panties, and I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”

Strong arms swept my feet off the floor. I toyed with the hair on his chest as he carried me back to the bed. He dumped me onto the mattress. I scrambled backward toward the headboard, and he followed on hands and knees. Slowly. Like a predator. I never knew what to expect from him. One minute, he was gentle, demanding and relentless the next. Today, he held himself over my body, forearms braced, biceps straining, all hard, dominating male. My body hummed with anticipation.

From far away, Sam’s phone buzzed. We groaned in tandem. 

“No. Stay here. It can wait,” I whispered in his ear. He ground his erection into the V of my thighs. I opened my legs further. My phone joined his in a sadistic attempt to ruin our fun. I cupped his face between my palms. “Whoever it is will call back.”

They did. Two minutes later. 

Sam groaned and rolled off me to look at his caller ID. “It’s Xavier.”

“Doesn’t that guy ever sleep?” I grumbled.

“I don’t pay him to sleep,” Sam said. Before I could protest again, he answered. “This better be good.” He shoved a hand through his sun-streaked hair and began to pace the length of our bedroom. “I’m in the middle of something here.” Our eyes met, and a bevy of butterflies unfurled in my belly. The waistband of his pajamas hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing the deep cut of muscle on each side, and did nothing to hide the length of his erection straining against the cotton. I made a grab for the drawstring. His even, white teeth bit into the full flesh of his lower lip, and the corners of his mouth curled upward in a sexy smile. Strong fingers wrapped around mine before I could do any damage. “I don’t care what you tell them. Make it happen.” He cupped a hand over the phone. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered and sank back against the pillow. We usually went into the office by seven. Even though we worked together, quality time alone was at a premium. This morning had been a rare occurrence when both of our schedules had allowed a later start. We just wanted a few minutes alone together before he left for New York City then Tokyo.

My phone began to ring again. One glance showed a half dozen missed texts from my assistant, Layla. “What?” I snapped into the phone, more tersely than I intended. Sam’s authoritative manner was wearing off on me. He gave my hand a sympathetic squeeze then sauntered toward the kitchen to start the coffee.

“Mr. Beckett called. He said there’s a problem with the documents you signed yesterday. He needs to meet with you right away,” Layla said. “I told him you weren’t here, although he insisted I call you at home.” Layla was young and inexperienced. I’d taken a chance on her because I liked her, and—well—because she reminded me of me at that age.

“Seriously?” My finger hovered over the button to end the call while my gaze drifted toward the kitchen and Sam. All I could think about was spending an hour in bed with my delicious husband and basking in the miracle our love had created. “We’ll be in around nine. Tell him to hold his horses.”

“I already tried. He was quite insistent that you’d want to see him.” Layla’s voice quavered, but she held firm. 

I took a deep breath and tried to steady my temper. “Layla, your job is to protect me from unnecessary calls like this. Take care of it.”

Layla’s gasp of disapproval preceded Beckett’s smooth baritone rumbling into the phone. “Get your lazy ass in here, Mrs. Seaforth. We’ve got work to do.”

Only Sam’s best friend, Piers Beckett, would have the balls to address me in such a familiar way. Our relationship had gotten off to a rocky start, but we’d worked closely together over the past months, and the strain had begun to ease. The riff between us had been a product of his need to protect Sam, something I understood. Good friends were hard to come by in life, and I respected his loyalty to Sam.

“I’ll be in at nine,” I repeated firmly. “Or can’t you handle this on your own?”

“There’s an addendum to the agreement that needs your approval. The papers need to be filed before nine this morning.” The clipped precision of his words crackled in indignation at my jab to his competence. “Do you want to explain to Sam why this deal fell through? Because I sure don’t.”

Crap. I huffed and sat up. He was right. Sam would be livid if our first acquisition tanked because of something simple like an addendum. “I’ll be there within the hour.”

“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll meet you in the conference room.”

“Give me back to Layla.” I heard the rustle of clothing and fingers as the phone transferred hands.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Seaforth. He wouldn’t—”

“I know how he is.” I cut her off; my good humor had evaporated. “It’s okay. Just make sure to have coffee. No—make that a non-fat decaf latte. And order in some breakfast.” I paused, remembering how trying it was to be an assistant. “Be sure to get something for yourself.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Layla’s voice softened with relief.

“Do you know why Xavier called Mr. Seaforth?” I asked. Sam had yet to return, but I heard the low timbre of his voice from the other room, sounding agitated.

“There’s someone in his office. An FBI agent, I think.”

“What?” I popped out of bed, unable to control the frantic beating of my heart. “Don’t play with me, Layla. Is this a joke? Did Xavier put you up to this?”

“No. Of course not.” The genuine horror in her voice twisted my lips into a compassionate grin. Poor Layla. Xavier liked to prey on her innocence. Last week, he’d conned her into replacing all the manila folders in the office with pink ones, saying I hated beige colors. “Did I say something wrong?”

Sam ambled back into the bedroom, fully dressed in a crisp navy suit, ice-blue shirt, and patterned silver tie, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“No. It’s nothing. I’ll see you in an hour,” I replied.

“Give me the phone.” Sam set the coffee on the nightstand and outstretched a hand. “Hand it over.”

“No.” I ended the call and tossed the phone aside. “That was Layla and Beckett. I’ve got to get into the office.” 

“Yeah, me too. Duty calls. Xavier said my flight has been moved up an hour. I need to leave right now or I’ll miss my plane.” He handed his cufflinks to me and stood patiently while I threaded them through the holes. “Takashima wants that proposal in his hands this afternoon, and he’s got a lead on a new acquisition.” He sighed and rumpled his hair with a long-fingered hand.

“Oh.” Disappointment pinched my insides. A beat passed then two. I waited for him to elaborate on Xavier’s call. Maybe the FBI agent had questions about a business associate or a former employee. There were a million and one reasons for the impromptu visit. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning. I promise.” 

We sat on the edge of the bed, side by side, thigh to thigh. He leaned over and ran his nose along the line of my jaw. I shivered. 

“I’m sorry, baby.”

“Is everything okay?” The fabric of his lapel caressed my palm as I smoothed his suit and fought the urge to strip him bare.

“It’s fine. Nothing for you to worry about.” He dropped a light kiss on the tip of my nose.

“When you get home, you’re going to be in so much trouble, mister,” I whispered into his hair, savoring his clean scent. His phone rang again. He growled and shook his head. This was our life, a jumble of meetings and conference calls interspersed with plane trips and hotels.

“That’s a promise,” he replied.