Pregnant by the Playboy Tycoon

He appeared in the doorway in nothing but track pants.

Annie wished he’d put on a T-shirt at least, so she wouldn’t have to look at all that bronzed male nakedness.

‘Okay. What do you want to say?’

She sucked in a breath and forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘I’m pregnant.’ And, just in case he didn’t get it the first time, ‘I’m having a baby. Your baby. In about seven and a half months.’

Silence.

She watched, desperate for some sign, but it was as if Steve had turned to stone—except for his Adam’s apple, which bobbed once. His complexion had turned to a whiter shade of pale. And his wide-eyed gaze dipped to her waist.

She saw his emotion, held in check by rigid self-control. The tight fists and clenched jaw. And impossible to miss the wonder—and the fear—in his eyes.

‘Pregnant,’ he murmured. ‘Sweet heaven.’

When not teaching or writing, Anne Oliver loves nothing more than escaping into a book. She keeps a box of tissues handy—her favourite stories are intense, passionate, against-all-odds romances. Eight years ago she began creating her own characters in paranormal and time travel adventures, before turning to contemporary romance. Other interests include quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook. Sharing her characters’ journeys with readers all over the world is a privilege…and a dream come true. Anne lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and has two adult children. Visit her website at www.anne-oliver.com. She loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at anne@anne-oliver.com

You can read Anneliese’s sister Abby’s story in Anne Oliver’s previous novel:

BUSINESS IN THE BEDROOM

Dear Reader

I love digging into my family history. Looking at photographs of my pioneering ancestors. Reading their names on the family tree that on one branch stretches back eight hundred years to English royalty. I’ve enjoyed many happy hours of research, discovering snippets in century-old Australian newspapers and visiting old family sites in England. They’re part of me and I’m a part of them.

But how would I feel if I discovered I was adopted now? As an adult? If my biological family was a mystery and that sense of belonging was ripped away? Before I’d finished Abby’s story, in BUSINESS IN THE BEDROOM, I knew I had to create a sister to complete her happiness. Enter Anneliese Duffield—the wealthy, indulged daughter of a renowned heart surgeon, who’s about to have to deal with the trauma of losing her mother and learning she has another family somewhere.

The next step was to give Anneliese a worthy hero to accompany her on that emotional journey of discovery, and to teach her that family is not about blood but about love. And who better than Steve Anderson, self-made millionaire and her secret night fantasy? Not that Anneliese wants him anywhere near her, because she always seems to fall apart when he’s around. Sorry, Annie, it’ll be okay, I promise…

Anne

www.anne-oliver.com

BY

ANNE OLIVER

To family

CHAPTER ONE

STEVE ANDERSON needed sleep. And the last thing he needed after a frustrating day investigating a glitch in a client’s security system was his resident night-time fantasy interrupting that sleep.

He scowled at the sporty Honda parked outside the family home he shared with his sister, Cindy, before parking his ute in the garage. Anneliese Duffield, daughter of Melbourne’s renowned heart surgeon, Dr Marcus Duffield, had dropped by. Cindy’s best friend.

And sleep interrupter extraordinaire.

He passed the late-model silver vehicle on his way inside—an extravagant twenty-first birthday present from her parents—and scowled again, annoyed that he still remembered that evening so well.

They’d barely seen one another in those past three years—Anneliese had been overseas with her parents for eighteen months and he’d been frequently interstate on business. When they had, on the odd occasion, crossed paths, she’d made it blazingly clear she didn’t enjoy his company. But he’d seen her laughing and relaxed when she hadn’t known he was watching…and there was something about her besides the hot pull of lust. Something that always tied him up in knots…

Stabbing his key in the back door, he reminded himself she tied everyone up in knots because she didn’t possess an ounce of responsibility. Any resulting problems were sorted out by Mum and Dad.

But he could always smell the fragrance she left in the air. French, he imagined, and distinctively unique, as if she’d had it bottled exclusively. And perhaps she had—wouldn’t that be just like her? Whatever, it always seemed to lodge in his nostrils and settle beneath his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He could see now that his sister and her friend were engrossed in conversation and cheesecake in the kitchen and oblivious to him. He warned himself he should keep walking, head straight to his room. Take a shower. Something. Anything. Instead, he leaned against the door frame and watched Anneliese.

Sharp cheekbones caught the kitchen light. Deep auburn hair, styled in a blunt chin-length bob, framed an oval face. Curves in all the right places. Perfection.

But it was her eyes that drew him. Not quite green, not quite blue. The colour of blue gums on a misty day. Eyes that could haunt his dreams.

If he let them.

Irritated because on too many occasions to count they’d done just that, he pushed away from the doorway with a brusque, ‘Hi.’

Anneliese’s head swivelled to face him, eyes wide and wary, which irritated him all over again, but he tried for amiable. ‘Can a hungry man get some of that?’

And, yep, no prizes for guessing how she’d interpret that question, he realised as soon as the words left his mouth, because just like that her eyes cooled, her posture stiffened. The spoon slid from her mouth, leaving a smear of cream on her lower lip before he was aware he’d been watching her mouth pout into that little moue of surprise.

Another strike against him.

Unable to resist adding to her discomfort, he tapped his own lip on the corresponding spot, saw the tip of her tongue dart out and lick it off. Her gaze remained locked with his, like a stunned rabbit’s.

Cindy, completely oblivious, bounced out of her chair, her dark pony-tail swinging, then reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘Of course you can. I was hoping you’d get here before Annie left. I’ll get another plate.’

And the view was clear again. Anneliese looked as sweet and innocent as icing on a wedding cake and he struggled against inappropriate images that fuelled his blood further. ‘How’s it going, Anneliese?’

‘Steve…’

She seemed to have trouble articulating his name. Her trademark perfume wafted to his nose like a summer-filled breeze. She was wearing well-tailored dark trousers and a soft-looking striped sweater in the colours of coconut ice. Gold highlights shone through her hair, courtesy of some expensive salon procedure, no doubt.

A flush tinged her cheeks and a frown formed between perfectly arched brows. She seemed to draw herself taller and retreat behind some kind of defence at the same time. ‘I better be go—’

‘Don’t let me interrupt whatever you were discussing. It sounded important.’ Steve held Anneliese’s eyes a moment longer, wondering what it would be like to break down that wall and—just once—see a smile directed at him that reached those eyes.

‘Here you are. Passion-fruit—your favourite.’

‘Thanks, sis.’ He remained standing as he took the plate Cindy held out to him. Carved off a mouthful of cheesecake from the box on the table with a spoon.

‘And it is important.’ Cindy addressed his comment. ‘Annie’s insisting on driving all the way to Surfers Paradise on Wednesday—alone—and I’m trying to talk her out of it.’

Steve caught Cindy’s concerned look. Good luck with that. From what he’d observed, Annie always got her own way. But he agreed with his sister—he didn’t like the thought of any woman driving across the continent on her own.

He told himself it wasn’t his problem, but it didn’t quite work. His jaw clenched in aggravation. ‘I imagine your father’s not keen on you driving halfway across the country alone.’

‘I’m twenty-four. Old enough to make my own decisions.’

The cheesecake turned sour in Steve’s mouth. Some people were never old enough—make that mature enough. Didn’t it matter to Anneliese that her mother had died not five weeks ago and her father might need her here? Queensland’s Gold Coast was a bustling tourist strip—in his opinion not a place you’d go to contemplate your life or heal the hurts. And she should be doing those things here, with her father, not flitting off interstate.

He fought the impulse to sneer, scraped his spoon across the bottom of the cake box. ‘Some decisions should be made after careful consideration to others’ needs.’ He schooled his voice to neutral except it didn’t come out the way he’d intended.

For a flicker of time he saw something deeper than pain cross those misty eyes, but he didn’t have time to ponder because Cindy spoke.

‘Steve…’ she said quietly, turning into him and touching his arm. ‘You know Annie’s dealing with serious personal issues right now. She’s fragile. Be gentle.’

His gaze slid over Anneliese’s curves beneath the soft sweater and his hands curled around the tingle. Gentle. He could imagine being gentle with Anneliese a little too vividly.

Cindy patted at his arm again. ‘I know you’re flying to Brisbane in the next week or two for work and I’ve come up with an idea… You’ve got reliable staff here to cover for you, so if you’re not in a hurry you could drive with Annie, look out for her…’

A choked sound bubbled up from Anneliese’s throat as he stared at Cindy. He was momentarily speechless. Obviously her friend was, too. Look out for Anneliese? As in personal escort? He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Just the two of them. All the way to Queensland. Presumably in her sporty car that was way too confining for his six-foot-plus frame.

Cindy must have intuited his answer because she cajoled and patted some more. ‘Please, Steve. I’d go myself but I’m trying out for that promotion and I can’t get the time off work.’

He turned to Anneliese, who looked as gobsmacked as he, but aimed his question at Cindy. ‘Don’t you think you should be asking Anneliese what she has to say?’

‘She’ll do it for me.’ Barely a glance at her friend. ‘Won’t you, Annie? There. It’s done.’

He let out a long slow breath. He must have nodded or something because Cindy smiled up at him, and it seemed the arrangement was final.

‘Hey,’ she soothed, moving to Anneliese’s side and rubbing her back. ‘He’s my big brother, Annie. The one guy you can trust is Steve. He’ll look after you. There’s no need to worry.’

‘I’m not worried.’ Anneliese cleared her throat, her eyes reverting to that familiar frigid blue. ‘Thanks all the same, but I don’t need a passenger cluttering up the journey with unnecessary conversation. Nor do I need someone holding my hand and tucking me into bed at night.’

Steve blinked at the image. ‘I’m not the talkative type.’ As for the rest… Their eyes met and he could’ve sworn they were seeing the same image. Two naked bodies sliding over crisp white sheets, her long legs gripping his hips, impatient feminine sighs filling the air…

She averted her eyes, biting down on her bottom lip as the flush in her cheeks spread to her neck.

Stick to the matter at hand, Steve. And Cindy was right. The girl needed a bodyguard. If he didn’t offer… Resigned to his fate, he set his plate down. ‘I have a few security systems to install up north and some prospective clients to see. If you’re worried about space, I travel light. I can send the equipment I need by air to Brisbane and…’ He paused at a sudden ruckus emanating from the laundry. ‘What the heck is that noise?’

‘Fred. My magpie. Cindy’s going to babysit him for me while I’m away.’ Anneliese tipped up her chin. ‘I’m not going to Brisbane. I’m going to Surfers.’

He smiled at her cool disdain. ‘My timetable’s flexible and Brisbane’s only an hour’s drive farther on.’

Cindy hugged Anneliese. ‘I’d rest so much easier with Steve going, too, and knowing you were in safe hands.’

Steve hitched a shoulder inside his flannel shirt and tucked his ‘safe’ hands in the back pockets of his jeans.

Anneliese’s nostrils flared as she inhaled a deep breath, then she looked at Steve and said, ‘Very well. Wednesday. And I want to get an early start. 6:00 a.m.’

He held her gaze, saw doubts and schemes stir in the depths, but he only nodded. ‘See you at your place at five forty-five. My mobile number.’ Without breaking eye contact, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his business card, set it on the table in front of her: Angel-Shield Security Systems. ‘In case there’s a change of plan.’

One hand rose to her throat, drawing his attention to the way her breasts rose and fell as if she was having difficulty catching her breath. She pushed up from the table with a mumbled, ‘Excuse me…’

Anneliese barely got the words past her lips while her gaze remained locked with Steve’s. Her feet stayed glued to the floor for what seemed endless moments before she could unfreeze her brain, order her legs to move and escape to the sanctuary of Cindy’s en suite bathroom.

Breathless, she leaned back against the door. Her legs still felt weak, her hands clammy as she slid them over the front of her trousers.

Steve Anderson. Her best friend’s brother. Worse, the man she tried her utmost to avoid. Why did he have to turn up right now?

Since the night of her twenty-first party she’d managed—mostly—to give him a wide berth, which made the memory of the last few moments all the more intense. She blinked, but his image was still there, lounging insolently between her eyes. Six-foot-plus of disarming man in faded black jeans and hiking boots.

He had hair the colour of teak and permanently in need of a trim, dark eyes, tanned skin. Still wearing his old padded vest—a sleeveless, shapeless black thing with a red logo of some car manufacturer or other on the back.

Did he ever take it off? No. She didn’t want to think about him taking it off. Because then she’d start thinking about that soft flannel shirt beneath and how it would feel if she touched it. Touched him. Right there in that V of flesh where a few masculine hairs curled over the collar.

She bit back a moan, moved to the basin and wrenched on the tap, letting the cold water flow over her hands. She’d rather die before she succumbed to that temptation. When she needed a partner for social occasions the men she associated with treated her with respect, dropping her home with a chaste kiss at the door. As she expected. As she preferred, she reminded herself.

Steve Anderson wouldn’t stop at the chaste kiss. Or the front door.

She had an even more disturbing feeling that she wouldn’t try to stop him either.

He was…dangerous.

His deep voice vibrated all the way up the passage and through the bathroom door. She heard Cindy’s laugh, then…silence. She breathed a sigh of relief.

She flicked water over her neck and checked her hair but avoided looking too closely at her face, afraid of what she’d see—tell-tale flushed cheeks and too-wide eyes that would confirm what she’d spent more than the past three years denying: for some inexplicable reason Steve Anderson called to her on some primal level. Inexplicable because why she’d be attracted to someone who changed women as often as he changed underwear, she didn’t have a clue.

So she had no intention of letting him accompany her halfway across the country. She was leaving Tuesday. Tomorrow. Staying one day ahead. ‘Sorry, Cindy,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t care how trustworthy you think your brother is, or how concerned you are for me.’

Discovering the real Anneliese, taking charge of her life was something she needed to do alone. Avoiding hot-looking men that unbalanced her equilibrium while she searched was another.

Only a few stars pricked a sky heavy with clouds as Anneliese loaded the last bag into her car early Tuesday morning and closed the rear door on the hatchback.

‘Bunnykins.’

She turned at the familiar name, her heart aching at the sight of her father in his striped pyjamas framed by the light spilling from the hallway onto the veranda. His greying hair stood up in spikes, his breath fogged the crisp pre-dawn air.

‘Daddy, it’s freezing and you haven’t got your dressing gown on. Go back inside. I told you last night I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Go on, Dad,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’ As she watched him shuffle back inside guilt flooded her and she considered forgetting the whole thing. Until five weeks ago her life had been on track, her world safe and secure. She could never have imagined leaving the sanctuary of her parents’ love and the only home she’d ever known to travel seventeen hundred kilometres to a remote place she’d never seen.

But that safe, secure world had crashed.

Her whole life had been a lie.

Her parents, the two people she’d trusted, who’d taught her that truth was gold, had lied to her. Betrayed her. Lying by omission was still a lie. She owed it to herself to uncover it all before she talked to her father.

She found him in the kitchen emptying the teapot to make a cup of tea. ‘Let me do that.’ Taking the pot from his hands, she opened the tea caddy and dumped in two scoops of leaves. ‘Remember, I’ve cooked up a dozen meals. They’re labelled and in the freezer for you. I’ve done all the ironing and stocked the pantry.’

‘Your mother would be so…’ He trailed off, spreading his hands.

‘Don’t, Daddy.’ Tears pricked at her eyes, hot points of pain. Snuggling against his chest, she curled into his warmth and familiarity one last time. She’d have done anything to spare him pain, but she was hurting, too. Hurting because she couldn’t yet tell him the truth about why she had to leave. Aching because that made her as guilty as he. But she had to do what she had to do, and it had to be now.

‘When I come back, we’ll talk.’ She straightened. ‘I have to go now to beat the traffic. I’ll be careful, Daddy. I’ll be okay.’

‘I know you will, Annie.’

He sounded more convinced than she was herself, and she breathed a sigh of partial relief in his confidence and kissed his cheek. I love you hovered on her tongue, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say the words that had always come so easily.

He squeezed her arms, stepped back.

She picked up her handbag, then walked through the house, not allowing herself even a glimpse of the antique furniture and the porcelain art pieces in the formal lounge, the crystal chandelier gracing the entrance hall. Not even her mother’s straw gardening hat on the stand by the front door. Especially not her hat—one of the few items Anneliese hadn’t been able to remove when clearing out her mother’s things.

She climbed into her car, took a breath as she set the vehicle into motion, pressing the remote to open the gate as she followed the curved lawn-edged drive.

Could she really do this? All those kilometres. All by herself. She’d never had to be independent. But she’d wanted to be—needed to be—and she was starting right now. Her heart sat like a lead ball in her chest, but she tightened her grip on the steering wheel and focused on the view ahead.

That was when she saw the figure of a man in the middle of the driveway as the gates swung open. Her headlights caught the glint of dark hair, the outline of long muscled denim-clad legs, brown eyes…and that familiar black vest. He smiled and his teeth gleamed in the light’s beam as he bent down and swung a backpack over one shoulder.

Oh, no. Her breath catching, she hit the brakes. He set his hands on the bonnet of her car. Strong and tanned and big, and she had the weirdest sensation that Steve Anderson wasn’t putting those hands on the curves of her car so much as laying claim to her body.

CHAPTER TWO

STEVE had the passenger door open and was tossing his bag in the back before Anneliese could lower her window to tell him to get out of her way. Scooping her jacket and handbag off the seat before she could think about where the accelerator was, or remember to lock the passenger door.

‘Good morning, Anneliese.’ Grinning at her, he checked his watch. ‘Right on time. Two minutes past six. I like a woman who’s punctual.’

‘It’s Tuesday.’

He smelled of the wind, damp and male and she knew his jaw would feel cold and bristly against her palm if she slapped it right now as she wanted to. Or if she curled her fingers around it and simply felt.

When he didn’t reply, she gritted her teeth. ‘We were leaving on Wednesday.’

‘But you changed the schedule, I see.’ With that grin still in place, he hauled the seat belt over his shoulder. ‘Well, then, let’s get going—we want to beat the rush hour. Or are you waiting for me to drive?’

‘Oh, no. You are not getting your hands on this baby.’ She blew out a breath, super aware of the silence and his gaze on her, as if he were asking whether she was referring to her car or her person. Both, she thought, pressing the remote to close the gates behind her.

He didn’t speak again, which gave her time to get her brain into gear. And perhaps it was better this way. She wasn’t alone any more. Already her anxiety had slipped a notch. If he kept to his side of the car and didn’t talk to her in that sexy deep voice, she could handle it. If nothing else, Steve Anderson’s presence alone would divert her focus away from all she was leaving behind.

She told herself she was calm, calm, calm. But she accelerated, turning into the road with a screech of tyres on bitumen, and felt the sudden movement as he gripped his seat belt. ‘And no handy hints on how to drive.’

A few moments of silence prevailed. ‘Just an observation…’ he ventured. ‘We should’ve turned right at the last intersection if you want to get onto the interstate before lunch.’

And she realised the waver in his voice was more of a vibration. Of amusement. ‘Habit,’ she muttered, checking her rear-vision mirror and furious with herself for allowing him to make her forget. She turned off, then doubled back.

‘I imagine it is,’ he drawled. ‘All those exclusive Toorak Road boutiques just down the way.’ She felt his gaze slide over her lemon silk blouse and grey light wool trousers. There was probably a sneer somewhere in there, but it was hard to tell because she was so engrossed with the sound of his deep voice rumbling in his chest.

‘The way to my father’s consulting rooms,’ she corrected icily. ‘Where I work.’ And desperately switched the conversation to him. ‘I imagine this trip is seriously impinging on your social life.’

‘Not at all,’ he said comfortably.

Was he between relationships, then? Did he even do relationships, or were they all one-night stands? She felt her face heat and changed topics fast. ‘So you camped outside my house all night?’

‘Heck, no. But I had this gut feeling you might change your mind about the day and forget to call me. Weird, huh?’

Her cheeks heated further and she was grateful for the semidarkness. One hand crept to fiddle with the top button of her blouse, and she wished she could flick it undone to cool the sudden hike in air temperature.