Expecting the Boss’s Baby (10 page)

“And now you have.” He raised his tin cup.

She tapped hers against it. “To work.”

“And to you, Zoe Bravo. I can't tell you how glad I am that you showed up in my office that fateful Thursday in June. There is no one I'd rather be stranded in the jungle with, no one in the whole damn world, and that is a fact.”

“Back at ya, Dax, and then some.”

They sipped, slowly, savoring every drop.

 

That night, in the tent, after lovemaking even more satisfying than the night before and the night before that, she laughed and warned that at this rate, they were going to run out of condoms before the rescue he so adamantly predicted could occur.

“I doubt it.” He was downright smug. “I brought plenty.”

“Always prepared.”

Braced up on an elbow, he traced a circle around her navel. “I don't want any surprises. So I make it my business to prevent them.”

“Then again…”

“Is that a criticism I hear coming?”

“Well, Dax, if you really want to protect yourself against those kids you say you're never going to have, why not get a vasectomy?”

Did she expect the question to give him pause?

It didn't. He bent close just long enough to press a soft kiss on the vulnerable flesh of her belly. Then he shrugged. “You're absolutely right. And I've been to the urologist more than once to get it done.”

“But?”

He shook his head. “I always chicken out. Some ingrained macho idea I have of myself, I think. That I'll somehow be less a man if I'm sterile.”

“You know that's just crap, right?”

He idly stroked her shoulder. “Yes, I do know. Still, it's crap that I haven't gotten past yet.”

She couldn't resist suggesting, “Then maybe you do want to have kids, someday. Somewhere deep in your macho manly man heart, I mean.”

“No, I don't.” He sounded very sure. “I've just got a stupid, irrational fear of being less of a man. A fear I
will
get over, one of these days.”

Zoe reached up to cradle the side of his dear face. “You know, I could actually start to admire you if things keep on like this.”

He faked a look of dismay. “You don't already? What is
wrong
with you?”

She laughed, but then she grew serious again. “You're more honest and self-aware than I realized.”

“High praise.”

“Yeah, who knew? Sheesh. That first day, during the interview, I was actually thinking that working for you was the last thing I ought to be doing.”

He ran a finger slowly down the outer edge of her
arm, bringing a little shiver in anticipation of future pleasures. “Yeah, I'm a lousy interviewer, I know. I need to work on that.”

“No kidding.” She did a bad imitation of Dax's deep voice. “‘Can I be straight with you? You work for me, that's
all
you do with me….'”

He had the grace to look chagrined. “Yeah, that was a little over the top.”

“A little?”

“See it from my point of view. I had just lost two assistants in a row, had to let them go when they decided they were in love with me. One of them showed up at my house unannounced, her arms full of gourmet food she'd whipped up just for me. She pushed past me into the house, set the bags of food on the entry table and then grabbed me in her arms and passionately declared that she had brought me dinner and we had to quit lying to ourselves. We had to face that we were meant for each other.”

She tried not to laugh. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. And the next one was worse. I got off the elevator one morning and she wasn't at her desk. She was at mine.
On
mine, in fact, and wearing nothing but a sexy pout and pair of red high-heeled shoes.”

“I can just picture it—and I really wish I couldn't.”

“So I had to fire her, too. It was very inconvenient. She cried. She talked about filing a lawsuit, about getting a restraining order on me.”

“On
you?
But
she
was the one who—”

He bent close for a quick kiss. “You're preaching to the choir, Zoe.”

“What did you do?”

“I gave her a big severance package—and told myself
I was one lucky SOB that I could afford to pay her off. She finally went away.”

Zoe teased, “An inconvenient naked woman. Is there anything worse?”

He traced a finger down the side of her throat, the caress feather-light. “Somehow, when you say ‘naked' and ‘woman' in the same sentence, it doesn't seem like that could ever be a bad thing.”

She caught his hand, kissed it. “But it was.”

“Yeah.”

“You needed someone who could keep her mind on the job.”

“Exactly. So when you came along, I decided to get it crystal clear in the interview that a hot affair would not be happening. And then right away I regretted making such a big deal about it. I realized I wouldn't have minded at all if I'd come in one morning and found
you
naked on my desk.”

She held his gaze. “I'm flattered, you know that. But—”

“I know.” He looked resigned as he pulled his hand from hers. “Never would have happened. Never
going
to happen, not when we get back to civilization. We have an agreement and I promise to stick by it.”

“Well, all right, then.”

He leaned closer. In the faint glow from the fire outside, his dark eyes were full of sensual promises. “So I guess I'd better grab my chance while I've got you naked in my arms, huh?”

“I guess you'd better.” She reached up, combed the hair at his temple with her fingers. “Kiss me, Dax.”

And he did kiss her—everywhere. When he rolled on the condom and eased himself between her open thighs, she thought that being lost in the jungle was
almost worth the fear they might not make it out. She could live with the fear.

As long as she had Dax in her arms every night.

 

She woke to the strangest sound. Like the beating wings of a giant bird.

Her eyes flew open. Daylight. It was morning. Dax was already up, bent over beneath the low roof of the tent, hopping around on his good foot, getting into his pants.

“Wh—what's going on?” she muttered thickly, her mind still lost in a fog of sleep.

“Helicopter,” he said the impossible word as he zipped up his pants. “It's happening, Zoe.”

“Uh. Happening?”

“We're being rescued.”

“Rescued…” Could it really be?

It was. The beating wings were descending—coming closer, louder. The sides of the tent rippled in a sudden hard wind.

Dax granted her his wonderful heartbreaker's smile. “Better put some clothes on, don't you think?”

Z
oe got her clothes on in record time.

They went out and stood by the glowing coals of last night's fire as the helicopter touched down toward the north end of the clearing. A man jumped out of the passenger side while the giant, whipping blades still whirled, dangerously fast.

It was her dad.

Davis Bravo wore old jeans and battered boots and a T-shirt. And to Zoe, he looked like everything safe and comforting and strong in the world. The recent years of anger and frustration with him fell away. He was only her dad, the best dad in the whole wide world.

He ran at a half-crouch, ducking beneath the spinning blades until he cleared them. When he stood tall again, she was already launching herself at him.

She landed like a bullet against his broad chest. He
didn't so much as stagger. He wrapped his arms around her tight and hugged her so close.

And in a broken voice, against her hair, he murmured, “Zoe. My little girl. Thank God. Zoe…”

She was crying, the tears smearing on her cheeks, dripping down her chin. “It's okay, Dad. I'm okay. We're safe, we're well.”

Slowly, he released her. His ice-green eyes were wet. He swiped an arm across them. “Your mother is going to be the happiest woman alive. She's been in bad shape—we all have….” He choked up.

She sniffed, loudly, dashed away her own tears. “Well, you found me at last. And I'm so very glad.”

He clasped her shoulder, as if he needed the contact, the proof that only touch could give him that she really was standing right there in front of him. He cleared his throat and sought the words—and then shook his head.

She understood. He was too choked up to speak right then.

His gaze shifted to just behind her. She sensed that Dax was there and she sent him a joyous smile over her shoulder.

“Dax,” her dad got out gruffly.

“I can't tell you how good it is to see you, Davis.”

“Thank you,” her dad said, “for keeping my little girl safe.”

Dax took her father's offered hand. “Your little girl can take care of herself. She saved my life.”

Her dad laughed then. “She's something special all right. And I'm so glad to see that you're both in one piece.”

“We're all right, Davis. Even better, now you're here.”

 

The helicopter had space for most of their luggage. They packed it in, knowing that anything they had to leave behind was probably lost for good.

When they climbed on board and the pilot lifted off, Zoe stared down at the clearing below.

She drank it all in: the battered shell of their brave little plane; the campfire she had built herself while Dax was so sick that she feared he would die; the yellow tent where they had made such beautiful love, held each other so close, told each other truths they never would have revealed under different circumstances.

She felt a wrenching tug on her heartstrings. A sadness so deep it almost doubled her over as it welled up beneath the pure joy of seeing her dad again, of knowing that they really had been rescued, as Dax had always insisted they would.

So much had happened down there. Awful things. Wonderful things. And she had lived to tell about it, lived to go home. Strange how now she was leaving, now she was free at last of the nagging fear that they wouldn't make it out, she missed it already.

Missed it all—the good
and
the bad.

She turned to the man sitting beside her, saw in those beautiful bedroom eyes that he knew. He got exactly what was going on here. They were gaining their lives again. And to do that, they had to leave something precious behind.

They had to turn their backs on the Zoe and Dax who had created their own private world apart, down there together, in the clearing. The real world was waiting for them.

Each of them knew who the other really was now. They understood each other.

They had their agreement in place and the time had come to keep it.

 

As it turned out, their Cessna's forced landing had happened farther south than they'd calculated. The plane had gone down about sixty land miles northeast of the Chiapan state capital of Tuxtla Gutiérrez, where they were supposed to have landed in the first place. The helicopter ride wasn't long.

Davis had radioed ahead. Zoe's mom and an ambulance were waiting for them when they got there.

Aleta cried unashamed tears of joy as she held out her arms to her youngest child. Zoe went into them gratefully, still in Mexico, yes—but in her heart, where it mattered most, already home.

There was a ride to the hospital. Zoe was quickly pronounced in good health. They X-rayed Dax's ankle, checked his head injury and came up with the expected prognosis. His ankle was sprained, healing well. The gash on his forehead would leave a jagged scar unless he opted for a few visits to a plastic surgeon.

Once the doctor said they were good to go, a couple of official-looking types appeared to interview them about their ordeal. Since they had all the necessary paperwork to show the two men, it was strictly a routine meeting. A plane had gone down in a bad storm and somehow both occupants had survived. There were
i
's to dot and
t
's to cross.

Next, they headed for a four-star hotel, where large, airy rooms waited for them. Zoe went straight to hers. She showered off the jungle grime and then sat in a scented bath for over an hour.

She was just getting dressed again when her mom showed up to take her to the hotel spa. Gratefully, Zoe let the pros go to work on her. By the time they were finished with the mineral body scrub, fresh color for her hair and the spa mani-pedi, she felt ready to face the world again.

Dax also disappeared for most of that day. Beyond cleaning up, he had a lot of calls to make, to
Great Escapes,
to Ramón Esquevar, to any number of others. He had business to catch up on and he had to contact the insurance people and also to see about getting a cleanup crew out to the ruined plane. Zoe
had
offered to help him with all of it, but he had ordered her to take some personal time and he wouldn't listen when she insisted she didn't mind giving him a hand.

That night, Davis, Aleta, Zoe and Dax shared a celebratory meal in the hotel's best restaurant. Zoe thought how handsome Dax looked, perfectly groomed in a white tropical-weight shirt and sand-colored trousers, carrying a new cane—ebony, with a silver handle. She tried not to stare at him longingly and thought she managed pretty well.

When it was time to turn in, Zoe went to her room and Dax retired to his.

Zoe stripped down and soaked in the big tub again—because it was there, because she could. The bed was soft as a cloud, the sheets about a gazillion thread count. She felt light-years away from the tent in the jungle.

And achingly lonely for Dax's body pressed close to hers.

She knew his room number, but she didn't go to him. She didn't pick up the phone to call him—or if she did, she set it quietly back in its cradle without dialing.

This was the toughest part: tonight, the next night.
Maybe for a week or two. Gradually, it would get easier. She wouldn't yearn for his arms around her, for the touch of his lips on hers, for the feel of his breath as it stirred her hair.

She wouldn't miss him so desperately. These needful feelings would pass. She would be fine.

If she had learned nothing else from the jungle ordeal, she had learned that she knew how to endure.

 

The next day, Wednesday, her dad had one of the BravoCorp jets take them back to San Antonio.

There were reporters waiting on the tarmac when they landed. The media wanted the scoop on Dax Girard's latest big adventure, on the thrilling rescue of a daughter of one of San Antonio's first families. For ten minutes or so, they answered shouted questions, about what it had been like, how they had lived through it and what they had felt when help came at last.

When the reporters finally let them pass, Dax left her without a soft word or a single touch—which was fine, she told herself. Just what she wanted. They were back to life as they had known it before the crash.

“Take the rest of the week off,” he commanded. “Catch up on whatever you need to catch up on. I'll expect you back in the office bright and early Monday morning.”

As if. “Thanks. I would like a day. So I'll take tomorrow for myself, if that's all right with you.”

He didn't miss a beat. “Good, then. See you Friday.” He turned to shake her father's hand and to kiss her mother's cheek. “Davis, thank you for everything. And Aleta, what can I say?”

Her mom beamed up at him. “You can say that you'll come to dinner at our family's ranch, Bravo
Ridge. Sunday afternoon about three? Let my family show their appreciation for what good care you took of Zoe.”

He smiled his killer smile. “I think it was the other way around, to be honest.
She
took care of
me.
”

Her mom was not letting him charm his way out of her invitation. “Please. Sunday? Zoe will give you directions.”

Zoe tried to help him say no. “Mom, come on. He's a busy man and—”

He didn't let her finish. “You know, I think I would enjoy that. Absolutely, I'll be there.” Did he slant Zoe a challenging glance?

She had no idea because she refused to look at him. “Well, okay, then,” she chirped out, falsely bright. “Great.”

“See you Friday,” he said again, speaking directly to Zoe that time.

She made herself meet his eyes. It wasn't easy. “Thank you, Dax. For everything.”

“Nothing to thank me for.” His voice was brusque. “We both know that. Without you, I'd be dead.”

She thought of that giant snake dropping out of the trees above her head and suppressed a shudder. “Back at ya.” They were the words they had said to each other in the jungle. And they came out in a near-whisper.

He nodded and ducked into the limo that waited for him.

“What an amazing man,” said her mother as the big, black car rolled off. She turned to Zoe with her most loving, coaxing smile. “Come on to the ranch with us, just for an hour or two? The family will have gathered to welcome you home.”

She couldn't refuse an invitation like that, even if
she'd wanted to—which she didn't. “Of course. I would love it. I can't wait to see everyone.”

So they drove out to Bravo Ridge.

The whole family was there. When their driver pulled to a stop in front of the wide-spaced white pillars that lined the long verandah, the front door opened and everyone came pouring out.

It was 2:00 p.m. on a weekday, but each of her hard-charging brothers had taken the afternoon off to see her safe at home again—even Travis, who hardly ever came in from his latest oil derrick. He'd driven up from the Gulf just to give his baby sister a hug.

Zoe was handed from one set of loving arms to the next.

Her niece, Kira, even demanded a big hug of her own. She held up her sweet little arms. “Aunt Zoe, Aunt Zoe, me, too! I missed you. I was so worried because you were lost. Hug me, too!”

So Zoe scooped her up and spun her around and drank in the feel of those small arms clasped tight around her neck.

When she let Kira down, she smoothed a hand over her short golden hair, reluctant to relinquish the moment. And she thought of what it might be like, to have a little girl of her own.

Strange. To picture herself as a mother—and not just in a hypothetical sense, but in a true awareness that she wanted that, wanted a baby of her own someday.

Dax had done that, made her see herself and her dreams of her future all the more clearly—at the same time as she realized that her dreams weren't
his
dreams. When she did have children, they wouldn't be Dax's. He didn't want to get married, ever. He didn't want children. He'd been totally honest and up-front about that.

She needed, above all, to keep in mind that a relationship between them could go nowhere, even if she were willing to put the job she loved in jeopardy for the chance to be with him again.

 

Zoe stayed at the ranch, with her family around her, through an early dinner and most of the evening. Her dad and mom dropped her off at her condo on their way home.

Everything at her place was just as she'd left it. Even her houseplants had done fine in her absence. She'd put them in trays of water before she left and they'd come through looking as perky as they had on the day of her departure.

It was almost ten. But she didn't feel sleepy. And Dax had given her the next day off. She put her cameras, her laptop and her PDA on their chargers and unpacked. Just about everything was dirty. So she sorted laundry and started the first load.

Then she got the memory cards from her cameras and uploaded the pictures she'd taken onto her home PC. Some of them were really good.

And a large number of them were of Dax—at the river, basking on a rock, looking like everything a man should be. And by their campfire, putting their fish dinner on the grill, giving her a big thumbs up. She had pictures of him shaving in the morning, his face slathered in a white foam of shaving cream. Pictures of him checking the smoke pit, pictures of his fine, broad back as he hobbled ahead of her on the trail to the river, leaning on his makeshift cane.

There were pictures of him in the tent, too. Naked. Eyes low and lazy. She looked at those for a long time.
Mine,
she thought. No one but she would ever see those pictures.

They were for her hungry eyes alone.

Once she'd uploaded all the photos to their own album in a private space online, she checked email. It was a good thing she still wasn't sleepy, because there were hundreds of new messages. She scanned them all quickly, checking for spam to dump first. The sixth-to-last message, sent at six-ten that night, was from Dax.

Thinking about you. Can't help it. Shoot me.