The Tycoon's Paternity Agenda (3 page)

W
hat the hell was he doing here?

The limo pitched and swayed up the pitted, muddy gravel road that led to the Huntley's cattle ranch, and Adam lunged to keep the documents he'd been reading on the ride up from sliding off the leather seat and scattering to the floor.

His driver and bodyguard, Reece, would have to take a trip to the car wash as soon as they got back to El Paso, Adam realized as he gazed out the mud-splattered window. At least the torrential rain they'd encountered an hour ago had let up and now there was nothing but blue sky for miles.

As they bounced forward up the drive, Adam could see that not much had changed in the four years since he'd last been here. The house, a typical, sprawling and rustic ranch, was older, but well maintained. Pastures with grazing cattle stretched as far as the eye could see.

The ranch had been in their family for five generations. A tradition Becca had had no interest in carrying on. As far as she had been concerned, Katy could have it all.

And now she would.

The limo rolled to a stop by the front porch steps and Reece got out to open his door. As he did, a wall of hot, damp air engulfed the cool interior, making the leather feel instantly sticky to the touch.

This meeting had been Katy's idea, and he wasn't looking forward to it. Not that he disliked his former in-laws. He just had nothing in common with them. However, if they were going to be involved in his child's life, the least he could do was make an effort to be cordial. According to Katy, the news of his plan to use the embryos had come as a shock to them, but knowing Katy would be the surrogate had softened the blow. And since a meeting with his attorney last week, when he and Katy signed a surrogacy agreement, it was official. With any luck, nine months from her next ovulation cycle she would be having his and Becca's baby.

After months of consideration and planning, it was difficult to believe that it was finally happening. That after years of longing to have a child, he finally had his chance. And despite Katy and her parents' concerns, he would be a good father. Unlike his own father, who had been barely more than a ghost after Adam's mother passed away. Adam spent most of his childhood away at boarding schools, or in summer camps. The only decent thing his father had ever done was leave him Western Oil when he died. And though it had taken several years of hard work, Adam had pulled it back from the brink of death.

“Sir?”

Adam looked up and realized Reece was standing by the open car door, waiting for him to climb out.

“Everything okay, sir?” he asked.

“Fine.” May as well get this over with, he thought, climbing from the back of the car into the sticky heat.

“Hey, stranger,” he heard someone call from the vicinity
of the barn, and looked over to see Katy walking toward him. She was dressed for work, her thick, leather gloves and boots caked with mud. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and as she got closer he saw that there was a smudge of dirt on her left cheek. For some odd reason he felt the urge to reach up and rub it clean.

He looked her up and down and asked, “Am I early? I was sure you said four o'clock.”

“No, you're right on time. The rain set us back in our chores a bit, that's all.” She followed his gaze down her sweat-soaked shirt and mud-splattered jeans and said apologetically, “I'd hug you, but I'm a little filthy.”

Filthy or not, he wasn't the hug type. “I'll settle for a handshake.”

She tugged off her glove and wiped her hand on the leg of her jeans before extending it to him. Her skin was hot and clammy, her grip firm. She turned to Reece and introduced herself. “Katherine Huntley, but everyone calls me Katy.”

He warily accepted her outstretched hand. He wasn't used to being acknowledged, much less greeted so warmly. Adam recalled that the hired help had always been regarded as family on the Huntley ranch. “Reece Wilson, ma'am.”

“It's a scorcher. Would you like to come inside with us?” she asked, gesturing to the house. “Have something cold to drink?”

“No, thank you, ma'am.”

“If you're worried about your car,” she said with a grin, “I promise no one will steal it.”

Was she actually flirting with his driver? “He's fine,” Adam said. “And we have a lot to discuss.”

Her smile dissolved and there was disapproval in her tone when she said, “Well, then, come on in.”

He followed her up the steps to the porch, where she kicked off her muddy boots before opening the door and gesturing
him inside. A small vestibule opened up into the great room and to the left were the stairs leading to the second floor.

The furniture was still an eclectic mix of styles and eras. Careworn, but comfortable. The only modern addition he could see was the large, flat-screen television over the fireplace. Not much else had changed. Not that he'd been there so often he would notice small differences. He could count on two hands how many times they had visited in the seven years he and Becca were married. Not that he hadn't wanted to, despite what Katy and her parents believed.

“My parents wanted to be here to greet you, but they were held up at a cattle auction in Bellevue,” Katy told him. “They should be back within the hour.”

He had hoped to get this business out of the way, so he could return to El Paso at a decent hour. Though it was Friday, he had a long workday ahead of him tomorrow.

“Would you like a cold drink?” she asked. “Iced tea or lemonade?”

“Whatever is easiest.”

Katy turned toward the door leading to the kitchen and hollered, “Elvie! You in there?”

Several seconds passed, then the door slid open several inches and a timid looking Hispanic girl who couldn't have been a day over sixteen peered out. When she saw Adam standing there her eyes widened, then lowered shyly, and she said in a thick accent, “
Sí,
Ms. Katy.”

“Elvie, this is Mr. Blair. Could you please fetch him something cold to drink, and take something out to his driver, too?”

She nodded and slipped silently back into the kitchen.

Katy looked down at her filthy clothes. “I'm a mess. I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to hop into a quick shower and get cleaned up.”

“By all means.” It wasn't as if he was going anywhere. Until her parents returned he was more or less stuck there.

“I'll just be a few minutes. Make yourself at home.”

She left him there and headed up the stairs. With nothing to do but wait, Adam walked over to the hearth, where frame after frame of family photos sat. Adam had very few photos of his own family, and only one of his mother.

In his father's grief, he'd taken down all the pictures of Adam's mother after her death and stored them with the other family antiques and keepsakes in the attic of his El Paso estate. A few years later, when Adam was away at school and his father traveling in Europe, faulty wiring started a fire and the entire main house burned to the ground. Taking whatever was left of his mother with it.

At the time it was just one more reason in an ever-growing list to hate his father. When Adam got the call that he'd died, he hadn't talked to the old man in almost five years.

He leaned in to get a closer look at a photo of Becca that had been taken at her high school graduation. She looked so young. So full of promise. He'd met her only a few years later. Her college roommate was the daughter of a family friend and Becca had accompanied them to his home for a cocktail party. Though Adam had been a decade older, he'd found her completely irresistible, and it was obvious the attraction was mutual. Though it had been against his better judgment, he asked her out, and was genuinely surprised when she declined. Few women had ever rejected his advances.

She found him attractive, she said, but needed to focus all her energy on school. She had a plan, she'd told him, a future to build, and she wouldn't stray from that. Which made him respect her even more.

But he wasn't used to taking no for an answer, either, so he'd persisted, and finally she agreed to one date. But only as friends. He took her to dinner and the theater. She hadn't
even kissed him goodnight, but as he drove home, he knew that he would eventually marry her. She was everything he wanted in a wife.

They saw each other several times before she finally let him kiss her, and held out for an excruciating three months before she would sleep with him. He wouldn't say that first time had been a disappointment, exactly. It had just taken a while to get everything working smoothly. Their sex life had never been what he would call smoking hot anyway. It was more…comfortable. Besides, their relationship had been based more on respect than sex. And he preferred it that way.

They were seeing each other almost six months before she admitted her humble background—not that it had made a difference to him—and it wasn't until they became engaged a year later that she finally introduced him to her family.

After months of hearing complaints about her family, and how backward and primitive ranch life was, he'd half expected to meet the modern equivalent of the Beverly Hillbillies, but her parents were both educated, intelligent people. He never really understood why she resented them so. Her family seemed to adore her, yet she always made excuses why they shouldn't visit, and the longer she stayed away, the more her resentment seemed to grow. He had tried to talk to her about it, tried to reason with her, but she would always change the subject.

Elvie appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a glass of lemonade. Eyes wary, she stepped into the room and walked toward the sofa. He took a step in her direction to take the glass from her, and she reacted as if he'd raised a hand to strike her. She set the drink down on the coffee table with a loud clunk then scurried back across the room and through the kitchen door.

“Thank you,” he said to her retreating form. He hoped
she was a better housekeeper than a conversationalist. He picked up the icy glass and raised it to his lips, but some of the lemonade had splashed over and it dripped onto the lapel of his suit jacket.

Damn it. There was nothing he hated more than stains on his clothes. He looked around for something to blot it up, so it didn't leave a permanent mark. He moved toward the kitchen, to ask Elvie for a cloth or towel, but given her reaction to him, he might scare her half to death if he so much as stepped through the door. He opted for the second floor bathroom instead, which he vaguely recalled to be somewhere along the upstairs hallway.

He headed up the stairs and when he reached the top step a grayish-brown ball of fur appeared from nowhere and wrapped itself around his ankles, nearly tripping him. He caught the banister to keep from tumbling backward.

Timid housekeepers and homicidal cats. What could he possibly encounter next?

He gave the feline a gentle shove with the toe of his Italian-leather shoe, which he noticed was dotted with mud, and shooed it away. It meowed in protest and darted to one of the closed doors, using its weight to shove it open. Wondering if that could be the bathroom he was searching for, he crossed the hall and peered inside. But it wasn't the bathroom. It was Katy's room. She stood beside the bed, wearing nothing but a bath towel, her hair damp and hanging down her back.

Damn.

She didn't seem to notice him there so he opened his mouth to say something, to warn her of his presence, but it was too late. Before he could utter a sound, she tugged the towel loose and dropped it to the wood floor.

And his jaw nearly went with it. He tried to look away, knew he
should
look away, but the message wasn't making it to his brain.

Her breasts were high and plump, the kind made just for cupping, with small, pale pink nipples any man would love to get his lips around. Her hips were the perfect fullness for her height. In fact, she was perfectly proportioned. Becca had been rail thin and petite. Almost nymph-like. Katy was built like a
woman.

Then his eyes slipped lower and he saw that she clearly was a natural blonde.

It had been a long time since he'd seen a woman naked, so the sudden caveman urge he was feeling to put his hands on her was understandable. But this was Katy. His wife's baby sister.

The thing is, she was no baby.

A droplet of water leaked from her hair and rolled down the generous swell of her breast. He watched, mesmerized as it caught on the crest of her nipple, wondering if it felt even half as erotic as it looked.

Katy cleared her throat, and Adam realized that at some point during his gawking she had realized he was there. He lifted his eyes to hers and saw that she was watching him watch her.

Rather than berate him or try to cover herself—or both, since neither would be unexpected at this point—she just stood there wearing a look that asked what the heck he thought he was doing.

Why the hell wasn't she covering herself? Was she an exhibitionist or something? Or maybe the more appropriate question was, why was he still looking?

She planted her hands on her hips, casual as can be, and asked. “Was there something you needed?”

He had to struggle to keep his eyes on hers, when they naturally wanted to stray back down to her breasts. “I was looking for the bathroom, then there was this cat, and it opened your door.”

“Right.”

“This was an accident.” A very unfortunate, wonderful accident.

“If that's true, then I think at this point the gentlemanly thing to do would be to turn around. Don't you?”

“Of course. Sorry.” He swiftly turned his back to her. What the hell was wrong with him? He never got flustered, but right now he was acting like a sex-starved adolescent. She must have thought he was either a pervert, or a complete moron. “I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I
wasn't
thinking. I was…surprised. I apologize.”

“Try two doors down on the right,” she said from behind him, closer now. So close he was sure that if he turned, he could reach out and touch her. He pictured himself doing just that. He imagined the weight of her breast in his palm, the taste of her lips as he pressed his mouth to hers….