Inheriting His Secret Christmas Baby by Heidi Betts

tempting as it was, Haylie refrained from emptying that glass, too, instead keeping one hand on her utensils and the other tucked away beneath the table.
    Clearing her throat, she hoped her voice wouldn’t squeak when she tried to speak. “Would you mind if I used the resort’s child-care facility for Bradley? Not all the time…I don’t like to be away from him for long stretches.”
    Even back home, she kept him with her at work and only left him with someone else for a few hours if she absolutely had to. Jittery brides tended to get annoyed with wedding planners who spend half their time bouncing and burping a fussy baby.
    “But I know I’ll need to do some running around, and also some touring of the Jarrod Ridge property, so it would probably be better to have someone else watching him then.”
    “Of course,” Trevor readily agreed. Finished with his dinner, he crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, the picture of quiet ease. “In fact, let me be very clear—you’ve got carte blanche while you’re here, Haylie. Anything you need, it’s yours.”
    Uncrossing his legs, he pushed away from the table and stood, collecting their empty plates. Gathering the cutlery and glasses, she followed him through the house to the kitchen.
    “I’ll see that you’re set up with a winter-safe vehicle and a place to work, both here and at the Manor,” he continued. “I can even arrange for you to have as many assistants as you’d like from the temp agency we use for the Ridge, and you can come to me or Diana for anything else you might need.”
    She helped him load the dishwasher, then leaned back against one of the counters to study him. It felt odd to her to see a man like Trevor doing such mundane chores. She would have expected him to have a cook and housekeeper, to be catered to rather than catering to her.
    And he did exude that air of power and privilege at times. Especially when he wore a suit and tie and looked like he should be posing for the cover of Forbes or GQ.
    The very thought made her knees go weak, and she dug her nails into the edge of the countertop to keep from sliding to the floor in a heap.
    Oh, yes. He was handsome enough and impressive enough to make James Bond look like a vagrant. But he also possessed a very wide independent streak. She’d recognized that the minute he’d brought her to his house.
    No family mausoleum or giant mansion with round-the-clock servants to satisfy his every whim. And though she was sure he had someone come in to clean at least once a week and could have anything he desired delivered within hours at the snap of his fingers, it was obvious he valued his privacy.
    Probably because he liked to bring women home with him, and live-in staff would have cramped his style.
    Her mouth twisted. That thought didn’t sit very well. And then it twisted even more because she shouldn’t have cared one way or another who he brought home or what he did with them once they were here.
    But, oh, how she hated picturing him here with other women. In this same room, this same house…and upstairs in his bedroom.
    She’d only gotten a glimpse of it during his initial tour, but she could well imagine the feel of those soft, hunter-green sheets beneath her bare skin. His hard, muscled body above her as they stretched out on the wide, king-size bed. His mouth and his hands and…
    A wave of longing swept through her, followed by a blast of warmth that lit her up like a Christmas candle, she was sure. She swallowed hard and tried not to look conspicuously aroused as Trevor finished what he was doing and turned back to face her.
    “Maybe you could even let me watch him some of the time.”
    Haylie blinked, praying he wouldn’t notice the blush tingeing her cheeks, or the fact that she was panting ever so slightly.
    God, she was such a sap. She should be keeping him at arm’s length. Two or three arms’ lengths. Not daydreaming about how amazing he probably looked without clothes