Little Secrets: Secretly Pregnant

Secret Identity. Secret Baby.

They’d worn masks! So after one wild night with a fellow Mardi Gras party guest, accountant Emma Dempsey never expects to see her mysterious seducer again. Her only reminders are a tattoo...and a positive pregnancy test.

CEO Jonah Flynn feels a strange connection to his beautiful new auditor. Her tattoo—identical to his own—explains why. They vow to keep things professional, even as desire tempts them away from their good intentions. But when everyone’s secrets are revealed, will Jonah have to choose between his business, his lover and his baby?

Their lips met with an unexpected spark.

She didn’t pull away. The old Emma would have. In her mask, she was someone else.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips clinging to his as he probed and explored her with his tongue. It was deliciously naughty. In that moment, Emma wanted it more than anything else in her entire life.

“Come with me,” he whispered.

Emma knew what he was offering and every inch of her body urged her to take him up on it. She’d never done anything like this. Ever. And yet there was something about her hero that insisted she go with him.

So she did.

* * *

Little Secrets: Secretly Pregnant is part of Little Secrets series: Untamed passion, unexpected pregnancy…

Little Secrets: Secretly Pregnant

Andrea Laurence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANDREA LAURENCE is an award-winning author of contemporary romances filled with seduction and sass. She has been a lover of reading and writing stories since she was young. A dedicated West Coast girl transplanted into the Deep South, she is thrilled to share her special blend of sensuality and dry, sarcastic humor with readers.

To Dan

Thanks for the inspiration

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Fat Tuesday

Everyone was dancing and having a good time. Everyone except Emma. That wasn’t unusual, though. Emma Dempsey had forgotten how to have fun a long time ago.

After her recent breakup, she was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with her. Her ex, David, had said she was boring both in and out of bed. She made the mistake of telling that to her friend and former sorority sister, Harper Drake, and the next thing she knew, she was at a Mardi Gras party at a loft in Tribeca.

She’d tried. She wore a pretty butterfly mask and a tight skirt, but this just wasn’t her cup of tea. Perhaps she should just call a cab and go so she didn’t ruin Harper’s night. She nibbled absently on a carrot stick as her gaze fell upon a tequila bar that had been set up on the kitchen island beside her. That was always a second option.

Emma knew she had to make a choice. She could either go home and join a local Red Hat Society at the ripe age of twenty-seven or she could take this bull by the horns and have some fun for once.

Feeling brave, she abandoned her plate and moved down the island. There was an assortment of small paper cups, slices of lime, a salt shaker and several bottles of tequila laid out. She prepared a shot and held it there, knowing once she leaped off the cliff, there would be no turning back.

Being with you is like dating my grandma. The memory of David’s painful words pushed her over the edge.

Without further hesitation, she licked, drank and sucked the lime furiously to cover the flavor of the liquor. It burned her throat as it went down, splashing in her stomach and sending a scorching sensation almost immediately through her body that a beer couldn’t even come close to.

It tasted absolutely terrible, but within seconds, she could feel a pleasant change. Almost as though her spine had loosened. Slinky. Maybe feline. This wasn’t bad at all. With a smile of satisfaction, she poured a second shot as someone else came into the kitchen. A quick glance confirmed her worst fears.

“Hey there, beautiful,” a creepy guy in a Batman-like mask said, leaning against the counter.

The compliment fell flat considering 75 percent of her face was covered in an ornate Mardi Gras mask. Emma sighed and slammed back the second shot of tequila without salt or lime. She needed it. She started pouring a third, blatantly ignoring him.

“Would you like to dance? I’ve got some sweet moves.”

She doubted it. “I don’t dance, sorry.”

Batman frowned. “Well, then wanna blow this party off for someplace quiet and dark where we can...talk?”

A shudder ran down Emma’s spine. Being alone with him was bad enough. Alone in the dark was downright frightening. “No, I’m here with someone. Sorry.”

Batman straightened up, his body language projecting the anger his mask hid away. “Who?”

She opened her mouth to answer him when someone came up behind her and set heavy, warm hands on her shoulders. He leaned in, placing a kiss against her cheek, and Batman finally took a step back.

A deep male voice rumbled near her ear. “Hey, baby, sorry I’m late.”

Emma fought the urge to pull away from this second, undesired suitor, but the fingers pressing insistently in her shoulders begged for her cooperation. He wasn’t putting the moves on her; he was trying to save her from Batman. Relieved, she turned to face the man and moved without hesitation to say hello.

Whoa. He was taller than she expected, a few inches over six foot, but she couldn’t look surprised and convince Batman to bugger off. She strained on tiptoe to reach up and kiss the lips that were the only part of his face visible with a gold-and-green Venetian mask obscuring the rest.

The instant their lips touched, the simple greeting turned into something else. The electricity of the kiss nearly knocked her backward, but his firm, yet gentle grip on her arms wouldn’t let her fall away. Her senses were instantly overloaded by the scent of soap and a spicy men’s cologne, the soft brush of his lips against hers and the heat of his skin.

Emma wasn’t sure if it was the tequila or his kiss, but she was suddenly very aware of her body. The nearness of the man made her skin tingle and her breath quicken. She felt her body leaning into him without her consent. It had to be the tequila. No wonder people got into so much trouble with this stuff.

Regaining some of her senses, she pulled away to break the kiss, but he didn’t immediately let go. Batman must still be watching. “I’ve missed you,” she said, snuggling suggestively into him.

His arms wrapped around her and hugged her tightly against the solid wall of his chest. He leaned in, breathing the scent of her hair and whispered, “He left, but he’s watching us from the other side of the room. Keep it convincing if you don’t want him coming back.”

Emma nodded and pulled away. She reached up to affectionately rub a bit of lipstick from her white knight’s mouth. The gesture was intimate and quite convincing, she was sure. Once away from him, she had a better view. The mask obscured most of his face, so all she could really decipher was his tall, broad build, tightly fitting jeans and his attractive and bright smile.

“Are we doing tequila shots?” he asked.

“I was, but I think I’m done.” She’d had just enough to make this scene authentic, but too much more was trouble for sure.

“Don’t be a quitter.” He poured himself a shot, and then paused only for a moment to smile wickedly before leaning forward and licking a patch of exposed skin just above her cleavage. Emma sucked a ragged, surprised breath into her chest and held it there. She couldn’t respond. Every impulse in her brain was telling her to step back and stop him, but she just stood there, the tequila rendering her mute.

He hesitated, the salt shaker in his hand. His dark blue eyes connected with hers, awaiting her permission. Could she give it? She wanted to. This was what she’d set out for tonight, even if she hadn’t known it. Grandmas didn’t do body shots with strangers at parties. But the words still escaped her. All she could do was tip her head back to let him sprinkle the salt gently over the swell of her breasts and place the wedge of lime delicately between her lips.

He came closer, shot in hand. Her entire body ached with anticipation as his hot breath hovered over her skin. He licked slowly, taking longer than she ever expected to remove every grain from her chest. Surely Batman wasn’t watching that closely. When he tipped the glass back, swallowing the tequila in one sip, she was finally able to release the air she’d held painfully in her lungs. Then he set the cup down.

Emma tensed, not quite sure what to do aside from holding perfectly still as his hand slipped around her neck to cradle her head and tip her mouth up to him. He dipped his head, his lips brushing hers briefly before biting down and sucking the lime juice. A cool, tart stream of it flowed into her own mouth before his teeth tugged the rind away.

When he took a step back, Emma did the same. It had taken everything she had not to moan aloud when he’d touched her this time. The best thing she could do was to get out of this situation before she lost what little control he’d left her with. Never mind that her face had to be flushed with embarrassment and unexpected arousal.

Her hand self-consciously came to her face and brushed the rough, glittery surface of her mask. She’d forgotten he couldn’t see her. Even if she was beet red, he wouldn’t know it. She was anonymous tonight. Somehow the knowledge made her bolder and she fought her flight reflex to hold her position by the bar.

He picked up her full paper cup from the counter and held it up in a dangerous and silent offer. It was her turn.

A quick glance confirmed that Batman had disappeared and there was no reason to continue with the show. Aside from her not wanting to stop. “He’s gone,” she said, giving him the opportunity to stop if this was still just a ruse.

“I know,” he said, and handed her the salt shaker.

Given that he was wearing a long-sleeved button-down black shirt, the only real option she had was his neck. She stood on her toes, straining in her heels to reach him. Emma leaned in and left a moist trail from the hollow of his throat to just over his Adam’s apple, where her tongue ran across the rough stubble that had grown in since his morning shave. She could feel his pulse quicken as she hovered near to him. This time, she noticed his skin smelled more distinctly male. Salty and slightly musky. She couldn’t help lingering to take in a deep breath and commit the scent to memory. Her body’s reaction to it was almost primal, parts deep inside of her clenching with a building need.

“Here,” he offered as she pulled away to apply the salt. He lowered onto his knees and looked up at her with big blue eyes, his hands resting on the swell of her hips.

Emma could hardly see enough of his face to piece together an expression, but his intense gaze urged her on. As he knelt, it almost felt as though he were worshipping at her feet. She liked it.

She tried to focus on doing the shot properly before his skin dried and the salt wouldn’t adhere. She didn’t want to give away her inexperience with this. She’d never even dreamed of doing anything as blatantly sexual as body shots. She didn’t think she had it in her.

She sprinkled the salt on his throat and positioned the lime between his full, soft lips. Nervously gripping the tequila in one hand, Emma leaned in a second time to lick off the salt. She could feel the vibration of a growl in his throat as her tongue slid across his skin. Pulling away, she quickly threw back the drink and placed her hands on each side of his face. Just before she was able to bite into the fruit, he spat out the lime. Emma didn’t have time to stop and their lips met with another unexpected spark.

She didn’t pull away. The old Emma would have. In her mask, she was someone else.

The second kiss blew the first out of the water. His fingertips dug into the flesh of her hips as he tugged her close against him. She melted against his mouth, slowly slipping down until she, too, was on her knees in the kitchen. The island shielded them from the crowd only feet away. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips clinging to his as he probed and explored her with his tongue.

It was deliciously naughty. In that moment, Emma wanted his kiss more than anything else in her entire life.

Just when she’d convinced herself that the kiss might never end, they parted. His quick breath was hot on the skin of her neck as he pressed his cheek against hers and sat there for a moment to recover. Their arms were still tangled around one another, neither grip loosening. There was an intensity in him that excited and frightened her, but she matched it with her own.

“Come with me,” he whispered, then stood and offered his hand.

Emma wasn’t ignorant. She knew what he was offering and every inch of her body urged her to take him up on it. She’d never done anything like this. Ever. And yet there was something about her hero that insisted she go with him.

So she did.

One

Three Months Later

“Where the hell is Noah?” Jonah Flynn growled into his telephone and gripped his coffee mug fiercely in his free hand.

“He’s...n-not in, sir.”

His brother’s administrative assistant, Melody, was audibly startled by his tone and he immediately chose to correct it. Jonah didn’t raise his voice to his employees, ever. Honestly, the only person he ever shouted at was Noah. And he would direct his anger at his brother if he could find the bastard.

“I’m sorry for yelling, Melody. I didn’t think he would be there. He’s never in the office. What I really meant was do you know where he’s gone to? He isn’t answering his home phone and his cell phone goes directly to voice mail like he’s got it turned off.”

Melody hesitated on the line for a moment. Jonah could hear the clicking of her keyboard as she checked his calendar. “His calendar is wide-open, but he mentioned as he left that he was headed to Bangkok.”

Jonah nearly choked on his latte. He swallowed hard and moved the cup out of his reach. “As in Thailand?”

“Yes, sir.”

He took a deep breath to swallow his anger. He would not, could not, take this out on Melody. She’d already called him “sir” twice, which just felt wrong. Yes, he was the CEO, but he was also wearing jeans and a Monty Python T-shirt. Everyone just called him Jonah.

“Any idea when he’ll be back?”

“No, but he did send me the number of the hotel he’s staying at. You could probably reach him there.”

“That would be great, thanks, Melody.” She read off the number and he quickly scratched it on his desk blotter before hanging up. He dialed it, getting transferred to his brother’s suite without much trouble. Of course Noah didn’t answer. He was probably frolicking with some exotic beauty. Jonah forced himself to leave a voice mail message that didn’t betray the true reason for his call and hung up in disgust.

Thailand.

If he’d had any second thoughts about Noah being involved in his current mess, they immediately dissipated. If the preliminary accounting reports he was looking at were correct, his little brother had just taken off to Southeast Asia with three million dollars that didn’t belong to him.

Jonah leaned back in his leather chair and gently rubbed his temples. This was not good.

The timing was never good for embezzlement, really, but his brother had just royally screwed him over in more ways than one. Noah didn’t spend much time in the office; his role in the company was to please their mother and nothing else. But Noah knew—he knew—that they were close to wrapping up the deal with Game Town. The auditor they’d hired was showing up today. Today!

This could ruin everything. It wasn’t a huge amount in terms of the numbers that ran through the company, but his brother wasn’t smart and took it in one big chunk, transferring it to some offshore account he had in the Caribbean. Anyone with an interest would run across it eventually. Game Town was hiring FlynnSoft to manage their monthly game subscription service. Who would want the company handling their money to have issues like that? Jonah certainly wouldn’t do it if the roles were reversed.

This needed cleaning up and fast. As much as he didn’t want to, he could rearrange his assets for some cash and cover the loss. He would take it out of his brother’s hide later. Maybe make him sell his overpriced European sports car. Perhaps even make him do some actual work at FlynnSoft for free until he paid off the debt.

But Noah would pay for this. By the time Jonah was done with him, his little brother would wish he’d simply called the cops.

But he wouldn’t. Not on his brother. And not for any love he had for his useless sibling, but for concern for their mother. Angelica Flynn had a degenerative heart condition and couldn’t take much stress. If Noah, the baby and undoubtedly favorite child, ended up in jail, she’d have one hell of an attack. If she found out Noah was turned in by his own brother, he had no doubt she’d drop dead from the strain and embarrassment. In the end, it would all be Jonah’s fault and he refused to be the bad guy in this.

He would handle his brother without their mother ever finding out.

Publicly, Jonah could deal with this however he wished. As a privately owned gaming company he had that luxury. Thank heavens he hadn’t taken people’s advice to go public. The move could make him a fortune overnight, but he’d also have shareholders and a board of directors to answer to. He could even be fired, losing control of the empire he’d started in his college dorm room.

No way. FlynnSoft was his and Jonah didn’t answer to anyone, especially some pompous suits who thought they knew better than he did how to run his company. He’d bail FlynnSoft and his brother out one way or another. His employees deserved as much. And they deserved the money this new contract could bring in. If Noah hadn’t just blown it.

What a mess.

Jonah flopped back into his executive chair and let his gaze drift over to the framed photograph that sat on the edge of his desk. In it, a Blue Morpho butterfly sat sunning itself on a clump of bright yellow flowers.

He’d gotten more than a few odd looks since he’d brought the picture into the office. Jonah wasn’t exactly a nature buff. He’d spent his entire adolescence focused on video games and girls, both of which could be enjoyed in the climate-controlled comfort of his bedroom.

Of course, he couldn’t tell anyone why it was really there. How do you explain a night like that to people? You just couldn’t. They wouldn’t believe you. If it wasn’t for the proof inked into his skin, he might’ve believed she was a tequila induced hallucination. His gaze dropped to his right hand and the tattoo etched into the web of skin between his thumb and index finger. His fingertip grazed over the slightly raised design, tracing it as he’d done that night, only then it was across the silky skin of her chest. His half of the heart.

The other half had disappeared with the woman in the butterfly mask. He’d never anticipated a company Mardi Gras party at his loft would turn into an unforgettable night of body shots, anonymous sex and late-night tattoos. But for some reason, she, whoever she was, had gotten under his skin almost instantly. Everything from her soft gasp as he licked the salt from her throat to the way she’d begged for him to take her was etched into his mind.

Even with all the crap going on with Game Town, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift to her again. She’d asked him for one night. No names, no personal details. Pure fantasy. Her multicolored glitter butterfly mask had obscured everything but her sleek, brunette ponytail, the full pout of her lips and the bewitching emerald green of her eyes.

How, exactly, had he decided that letting her walk out of his life was a good idea?

Jonah had been an idiot. He could see it now. For years, he’d gone through a lineup of women. They were all beautiful. Many were successful or talented in one way or another. They were drawn to his business success and the glamorous lifestyle he could provide. Most men would be content with the kind of woman who would throw herself at them, but he never was. He would inevitably get bored and move on. He’d actually earned a reputation as one of Manhattan’s Most Eligible and Elusive Bachelors.

But his butterfly had kept his interest. Even three months later, he still found himself thinking about her. Wondering where she was. Who she was. Trying to figure out if the real woman could ever measure up to his memory of her. She’d insisted that the next morning he wouldn’t want her anymore, like she would turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of midnight. Was it just the fantasy he craved? If he’d seen her face and known her name, would she have been relegated to the list of women he’d loved and forgotten? He didn’t know.

Jonah ran his hand through the long strands of his dark brown hair and gripped the back of his skull. He needed to let this go. Let her go. If he kept looking down the blouse of every woman he met searching for that tattoo, eventually he’d get slapped. Or sued. Maybe arrested.

He simply couldn’t help it.

With a sigh, Jonah turned back to his computer. He needed to focus. Noah would eventually come home and suffer mightily, but until then, he needed to clean up the mess. He searched through his contact list for his accountant, Paul. He’d be able to move his assets around and get the cash he needed. He always made sure his money worked as hard for him as he did for it and invested heavily, unlike his brother, who burned through money buying silly toys.

He could get the cash; it just might take a few days for the wheels of finance to turn.

In the meantime, he’d have to find a way to stall the forensic accountant Game Town was sending over. Someone would be showing up this afternoon at two. No one had mentioned the auditor’s name, so he had no idea who, or what, to expect. His strategy would rely heavily on who showed up.

If the auditor was male, Jonah would drag his dusty golf clubs from the closet and take the guy out. He hated golf, but found it to be an important social tool in the business world. Few company honchos got together to play Madden on their Xbox. It was a pity. Instead, they would play eighteen holes; he’d buy the auditor some drinks. Steaks. Whatever. Perhaps if the guy was hung over enough, the numbers would take longer to crunch.

If the auditor was a woman, there would be a different tactic. The golf clubs would stay in the closet, but the charm would be on in full force. Regardless of whether she had three eyes and a hunchback or looked fresh from the Parisian runways, Jonah’s charisma would carry him through. Since the age of fifteen, he’d had a way with women. A gift, he supposed, and one he made good use of. Dinner and drinks would still be involved, but the ambience would improve greatly.

He wouldn’t have to lay a hand on her. The last thing he needed was the woman running back to Game Town with that tale. No, Jonah wouldn’t go there. The right smile, some intense eye contact and a few compliments would go far, especially with a mousy accountant who wasn’t used to the attention. If he planned this right, he’d have her so hot and bothered she wouldn’t be able to remember her own name, much less see the problems with the financial reports.

No matter what, Jonah would come out on top. If he had to sit down with Carl Bailey, the CEO of Game Town, and explain what was going on, he would, but if it could be avoided, he’d gladly play eighteen holes or take a lonely accountant to the theater.

He made a note to ask his assistant, Pam, what shows were playing on Broadway at the moment. He wasn’t a big fan of musicals, but he found most to be tolerable enough. Except Cats. He wasn’t making that mistake a second time. That was a phenomenal waste of four hundred dollars, which was saying a lot, given he’d easily spend that much in a week on supplies for the gourmet coffee bar they added on the twenty-third floor.

Speaking of which, he eyed his now-cold coffee with dismay. He’d get a refill and a bagel after he talked to Paul. Picking up the phone, he dialed his accountant and mentally cleared his calendar for the next week. He’d be busy courting the Game Town auditor.

Jonah just prayed it was a woman. He really hated golf.

* * *

Surely her boss was a closet sadist. There was no other explanation for why he’d send her to FlynnSoft for two to three weeks. Tim could’ve sent anyone. Mark. Dee. But no, he had to send Emma. She was the only one who could handle herself in that environment, he said.

Slipping her hand inside the doorway to her closet, she flipped on the light switch and stepped inside. Tim was full of it. He just wanted to see her squirm. She liked to think that she’d been hired for her top grades at Yale and her recommendations from professors, but she had a sneaking suspicion her father had gotten involved and made it happen.

Tim likely resented some rich kid getting dropped into his department against his will and enjoyed making her miserable as a result. It made her more determined than ever not to give him that satisfaction. She was going to do a good job. No—a great job. She would not get sucked into FlynnSoft’s corporate hippie attitude. She would not fall prey to Jonah Flynn, Golden God and his seductive smile.

Not that the notorious CEO would waste any of his smoldering looks on Emma. She wasn’t bad to look at, but the last gossip blog she’d seen had him coming out of a restaurant with a model she’d recognized from her lingerie catalog. She simply couldn’t compete with abs of steel and breasts of silicone. And she wouldn’t even try.

A man like Jonah Flynn was of no interest to her, anyway. He embodied everything her mother, Pauline, had warned her about. Don’t make the same mistakes as Cynthia did, she’d say. Her older sister hadn’t died because of poor choices—a plane crash had done that—but when those choices came to light after her death, the family had been scandalized. Emma had grown up as her sister’s polar opposite as a result.

If Tim was being absolutely honest with her, she’d bet that’s why she got the job. Dee, although competent, was a tall, thin and attractive woman easily distracted by men. If Flynn even looked at her sideways, she’d be a puddle at his feet. Forensic auditors could not puddle. Emma probably wouldn’t earn a second glance.

She eyed the neatly hung rows of clothing in her closet. Although FlynnSoft was a pioneer of the übercasual work environment, there was no way she was walking into that building while wearing jeans and flip-flops. Even if she stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the laid-back software designers, she was wearing one of her suits with high heels. Her sole concession to the casual environment would be leaving off the hosiery. Summer was just around the corner in New York and she preferred staying cooler in the heat.

She pulled a charcoal-gray suit and a light blue top from the rack and smiled in approval. There was just something about the crispness of a freshly starched blouse and a smartly tailored blazer that gave her a much-needed boost of confidence.

It was just the armor she needed to go into battle against Jonah Flynn.

Battle was the wrong word, really. He wasn’t the enemy. He was a potential contractor for Game Town. FlynnSoft had managed to build an extremely robust and efficient system for handling subscriptions and other in-game purchases for their addictive online game Infinity Warriors. Recently, they’d branched out offering the management of other online game system subscriptions to companies that needed help handling a high number of users or providing additional monetizing options. It allowed small software start-ups to focus on designing the game and let FlynnSoft manage the back end.

Before they went to contract, it was customary for the companies to have a forensic accountant review the vendor’s records to ensure everything was shipshape. Carl Bailey, the man who started Game Town twenty years earlier and now headed up the board of directors, hated surprises.

Although FlynnSoft had a sterling reputation, the old man had a general distrust of a company where a suit and tie were not standard issue. Bailey wasn’t getting into bed with any company he didn’t think was up to snuff, even if paying Flynn was cheaper than developing the capability in-house. She was to go over everything with a fine-tooth comb.

Emma would be welcomed and provided everything she needed to do the job, but at the same time, no one liked an auditor nosing around. She might as well wear a big red button that read I Can Ruin Your Life.

That was a pretty unfair generalization. She could only ruin their lives by calling to light their own misdeeds. If they were good boys and girls, she couldn’t get them into trouble.