Baby By Accident(4)

Ms. Helton would not be happy.

Perhaps she would quit.

He stepped under the warm spray of water and let the heat soak into his skin, relaxing the tense muscles of his shoulders and neck. Sighing, he leaned his head back letting his long hair stream down his spine in a wet slide.

She wouldn’t quit.

Luck had consistently been his lady in business. In this case, though, with this particular haughty lady, luck had vanished. Lise Helton would not make his life easy by quitting in a huff and walking out of his life. No, he’d come to know her well. There’d be a battle royal with the Princesse as soon as she woke up from her drunken state.

Drunk. On an out-and-out bender.

He shook his head in disbelief, drops of water flying from his hair. Could she possibly have hidden a penchant for alcohol behind the prim and precise persona she presented to him every day at work? His gut told him no. But the mystery behind her behavior still intrigued him. Which provided him one more reason to bring her here instead of let his security team drag her to her own flat. He wanted to see what she’d say when she awoke.

Hell, admit it, Vico.

More than anything else, he wanted to look into those ice-blue, bloodshot eyes tomorrow morning and see them widen in horror at the realization he’d seen her at her worst and she’d slept the night by his side.

Snickering, he turned and slathered his chest and sides using the almond-scented soap he had specially imported from Italy. It had been the first luxury he’d bought when he’d made his first real deal. Dirt and filth had been a part of his childhood. His momma had tried, but the boy she loved had been intent on living on the streets, intent on having his own way.

Intent on falling into the ugly world of crime.

And the inevitable shame which had followed.

Nevertheless, for fifteen years now, he’d paid any price in order to rise above his past, his sins. Forgiveness, relief of his guilt, could not be bought. Still, at least he had the satisfaction of knowing he had the money to pay penance.

He wrenched the shower off and stepped out, wrapping a warmed towel around his waist. Staring into the mirror, he debated only a moment. No, he would not shave his five-o’clock shadow. Not for the woman in his bed. Ms. Helton had made her opinion of him clear from the moment they’d met.

Predator. Peasant. Playboy.

Being who he was, he'd played to her expectations. He'd whispered sinful putdowns. He’d grinned in the face of her contempt. He’d hid his tough demeanor and sharp mind behind the playboy she’d pegged him as. He'd been exactly what she expected these past two months.

A coarse barbarian playing with his new toy.

He knew what she anticipated. She waited for him to grow bored. However, she waited in vain. The woman had miscalculated. She’d underestimated him.

Vico leaned over the sink and brushed his teeth. Turning off the water, he wiped his face with a towel, grimacing at the tightness of his jaw. He’d been angry for months, though he’d successfully kept his resentment banked until he’d evaluated his enemy and decided how to handle her.

Within a week of his arrival, he’d understood Lise Helton held far more cards then he’d expected. She’d entrenched herself too well. The other stockholders, the employees, and every client spoke of her in a mixture of awe and affection. There’d been no way he could fire her without disrupting the entire flow of the company. He’d taken over HSF thinking he’d be in charge. Not until he’d looked into two frosty blue eyes had he realized where the real challenge lay in conquering this company.

Conquering the Princesse had become the real challenge.

The woman who currently lay on his bed, dead to the world, and in distracting disarray.

Vico chuckled again. The irony delivered a sweet addition to his earlier victory over her today.

Ms. Helton was going to be one astonished lady tomorrow.

Walking back into his bedroom, he stared down at her. She hadn't moved. His gaze devoured her: the angelic beauty of her face, the thrust of her breasts, the long, long length of elegant leg. If he were a gentleman, he would sleep on the sofa.

He was not a gentleman.

Leaning down, he pulled her dainty feet out of somber grey pumps. Without conscious thought, he slid his hand over the arch of her foot.

She murmured, then fell silent.

Her suit jacket came next. Her body lay lax, compliant as he slipped off her shirt.

He was a man. He looked.

The bra didn’t match her starchy, prim outerwear. Glossy pink, lacy. And sexy. The bra plumped her surprisingly lush breasts up and out. One tiny mole lay on one delectable mound, right by the fringe of the bra.

His mouth watered. His semi-naked body went hard in a split second.

Tamping down his urges, he forced himself to focus on her skirt, sliding it down her rounded hips. Over her smooth thighs. Off her body.