The Executive's Surprise Baby

  CATHERINE MANN

  THE EXECUTIVE’S SURPRISE BABY

  To the marvelously talented authors of the first five Garrison stories: Roxanne St. Claire, Sara Orwig, Anna DePalo, Brenda Jackson and Emilie Rose. I thoroughly enjoyed working with you all on this project!

  And to my critique partner, Joanne Rock. Many, many thanks for your help that made it possible for me to meet my deadline. I couldn’t have done it without your fabulous insights—and the sugar jolt from that bag of Jelly Bellies you sent during my final dash to the finish line!

  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Catherine Mann for her contribution to THE GARRISONS miniseries.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  July, five months ago

  B rooke Garrison ordered her first taste of alcohol at twenty-eight years old.

  She reached across the polished teak wood for the glass of wine from the aging bartender at the Garrison Grand Hotel lounge. Her hand shook after the emotional toll of the day, hearing her father’s will read, learning of his secret life. At least she didn’t have to worry about getting carded even if she had been younger since her family owned the place.

  “Thank you,” she said, surreptitiously reading the older man’s name tag, “Donald.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Garrison.” He slid an extra napkin her way as smoothly as the pianist slipped into his next song. “And please accept my condolences about your father. He will be missed.”

  By more people than she had realized. “We all appreciate the kind words. Thank you again.”

  “Of course. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Anything else? She would like to erase this whole horrible day and start over. Or at least stop thinking about it, much less talking. She’d already ignored four voice messages from her brother Parker’s receptionist.

  Tentatively, Brooke sipped the wine, wincing. She watched the candle’s flame through the chardonnay’s swirl. Somewhere in that glass were the answers to what stole her mother away from her. To what had driven her father to lead a secret second life in the years before he’d died.

  Her alcoholic mother’s bitter words after the reading of John Garrison’s will this morning echoed over and over again through Brooke’s head. “The cheating son of a bitch. I’m glad he’s dead.”

  What a hell of a way to learn there weren’t five Garrison offspring—but six. In addition to three brothers and an identical twin sister, Brooke had an illegitimate half sister living in the Bahamas, a sister her father had never told them about while he was alive. Instead, he’d chosen to share the news in his will while handing over a sizable chunk of the Garrison empire to Cassie Sinclair—the newly discovered sibling.

  Not that Brooke cared about the money. The betrayal, however, burned.

  Conversations and clinking glasses of happier people swelled around her while she sipped. She wanted none of the revelry, even made a point of carefully avoiding eye contact with a couple of men attempting to snag her attention.

  Brooke raised the long-stemmed crystal to her mouth again. She knew the wine was as top-notch as the fresh flowers and linens around her. Her taste buds, however, registered nothing. She was too numb with grief.

  She’d always blamed her mother for her father’s frequent business trips. The drinking must have driven her wonderful daddy away. Now she couldn’t help but wonder if her father’s behavior had somehow contributed to her mother’s unhappiness.

  And how could she untangle it all in the middle of mourning the loss of such a huge figure in her life? The hotel blared reminders of his presence. She could see her father’s imprint on each multi-domed chandelier in the bar, on every towering column.

  Brooke circled a finger around the top of her half-full glass, an indulgence she never allowed herself because of her mother’s addiction.

  Tonight wasn’t normal.

  Her eyes hooked on the looming columns in the spacious hall outside the bar—the evening turning further beyond normal than she ever could have anticipated.

  Through the arched entranceway walked the last man she expected here, but one she recognized well even in the dim lighting. Their families had been business rivals for years, a competition that only seemed to increase once Jordan Jefferies had taken over after his father’s death.

  So why was Jordan here now?

  Brooke forced herself to think more like her siblings and less like her peacemaker self…and the obvious answer came to her. He’d come to her brother Stephen’s hotel to scope out the competition.

  Brooke took the unobserved moment to study Jordan Jefferies prowling the room with a lion’s lazy grace. No, wait. Lazy was the wrong word.

  Think like her siblings. Jefferies would only want people to perceive a lazy lope so he could pounce while she was otherwise occupied staring at his blond, muscle-bound good looks.

  Yeah, she’d noticed his looks more than once. He might be the enemy, but she wasn’t blind. However, she’d considered him off-limits because of the controversy it would cause in her family. Often, she’d heard her oldest brother Parker fume for days over a contentious business meeting with Jordan. The family diplomat, she always tried her best to soothe over arguments and hurt feelings.

  For all the good it had done her. The whole Garrison clan had been ripped raw today.

  Her mother’s voice whispered again…“The cheating son of a bitch. I’m glad he’s dead.”

  The bartender swooped by, breaking her train of thought. “Can I get you anything else, Miss Garrison?”

  Garrison. She couldn’t escape it anywhere around here, just as futile as thinking she could keep peace in her family.

  Why bother trying?

  A heat fired through her veins and bloomed into an idea, a desire. And sure, a need for open rebellion after a day of hell. “Yes, Donald, actually you can do something for me. Please tell the gentleman over there—” she pointed to Jordan “—that his drinks for the evening are on the house.”

  “Of course, Miss Garrison.” The bartender smiled discreetly and walked under the rows of hanging glasses to the other side of the wooden bar. He leaned to relay the message and Brooke waited. Her stomach tightened in anticipation.

  What would he think of her picking up the tab for his drinks? Likely nothing more than a Garrison acknowledging his presence.

  Would Jordan Jefferies even remember her? Of course he would. He was a savvy businessman who would know all the Garrisons. A better question, would he be able to tell her apart from her twin?

  He looked from the bartender to her. His gaze met hers, and even in the low lighting she could see the blue of his eyes. Interest sparked in his slow smile.

  Jordan picked up his drink and wove his way around the patrons, straight toward her with a deliberate, unhesitating pace. He set his glass beside hers. “I didn’t expect such a nice welcome from a Garrison. Are you sure you didn’t have the bartender poison my drink, Brooke?”

  He recognized her. Or a lucky guess?

  “How do you know I’m not Brittany?”

  Without ever glancing away from her eyes, he reached, stopping an inch shy of touching a lock of her hair that stubbornly refused to stay pulled back. “Because of this. That wayward strand is signature Brooke.”

  Wow. He definitely recognized her when even her own father had gotten it wrong sometimes.

 
; In that moment, she realized she had more Garrison determination in her than anyone would have ever suspected. Brooke lifted her glass to Jordan in a silent toast.

  She’d seen him many times. She’d always wanted him.

  Tonight, her family be damned, she would have him.

  One

  Present Day

  “M erry Christmas, I’m having a baby. Your baby,” Brooke Garrison corrected the phrasing, wanting to get it just right before the father of her child walked through her office door.

  Any second now.

  She shifted behind her sleek metal desk from where she managed the family’s Sands Condominium Development. She toyed with her hair. Longed for more peppermint ice cream—yes, she’d eaten a scoop with breakfast.

  Damn. Time was ticking away faster than the blinking lights on the Christmas tree in the corner of her office, and she still didn’t know the perfect way to tell Jordan about his impending fatherhood.

  “I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.” She practiced another tact. “The birth control we used apparently failed. Probably when we were in the hot tub.”

  Hmm…She shook her head. Bad idea thinking about sharing a bath with Jordan. She swiped back a lock of hair that had slithered free from her French twist. As manager of Sands Condominium Development—a segment of the Garrison family empire—she should be more decisive than this.

  Except nothing had ever been more important.

  “I’m expecting.” Expecting what? That sounded like FedEx should be showing up soon with a package. She kicked off her heels that had long ago started pinching her swollen feet, even without panty hose.

  Thanks to her ever-present tan, a by-product of living in Miami’s South Beach, she could go without stockings. And why was she thinking about clothing accessories?

  Likely to avoid the subject that jangled her nerves.

  She should have already prepared the flawless speech. The Garrison family perfectionist, never making waves, she was always organized. Not so much now.

  Worst of all, there was no excuse for her lack of prep work. Once she’d dropped the pregnancy news bomb at the weekly family dinner, she’d known it was only a matter of time until word got out. Eventually her future brother-in-law, Emilio, would unwittingly say something to his own brother—and business partner.

  Jordan Jefferies.

  When her secretary had buzzed her with the news that her family’s biggest business rival would like to see her, Brooke had known that eventually had arrived.

  Sooooo, what about, “Remember that night five months ago after they read my father’s will? When I actually indulged in three sips of wine?” Dumb move having any at all since she never drank for fear of being like her alcoholic mother. “And after that, we had wild monkey sex in a hotel room until—”

  The door opened and her mouth closed.

  Jordan didn’t fling it wide or send it crashing against the wall. He didn’t need to. The man in a gray pin-striped suit had the kind of presence that resonated through a room more than any echo of wood pounding wall. The diamond cuff links and tailored perfection of him contrasted with her memories of their raw, heated night together.

  Six feet three inches tall, he nearly skimmed the mistletoe dangling from her door frame. As quietly as he entered, he closed the door behind him.

  The lock snicked. She flinched. His baby kicked.

  Jordan turned to face her and strode toward her desk, his handsome face an unreadable mask. As she took in his perfect blond hair, she resented her stubborn strand that wouldn’t stay in place. He knelt briefly and straightened, coming back up with her shoes. A whiff of his aftershave drifted across the steel desk, sending her back to the morning she’d hugged a hotel pillow to inhale the scent of him. Before she’d left him sleeping.

  “Hello, Brooke.” He placed one shoe on her desk, but kept the other black leather pump cupped in his hand. “Don’t bother getting up on my account.”

  “Since you have my shoes, I believe I’ll keep my seat.” And camouflage her burgeoning stomach behind the office furniture for a few more minutes. A technicality, sure, but it offered a semblance of control.

  At least he wasn’t shouting, but then he’d had time to absorb the news about her pregnancy. She just needed to be sure he knew—believed—the child was his.

  An odd thought struck her. Could she have used telling the family—in front of his adopted brother—as a passive-aggressive way of getting the news to Jordan? While she considered herself a savvy businesswoman who earned her place in the family corporation, she had a reputation for avoiding all-out confrontations in her personal life.

  Had she dodged a bullet? Or merely made matters worse? She tried to get a read off Jordan’s expression, but he kept her shuttered out with his best executive poker face.

  His thumb caressed the leather shoe—and, my, how she hated the way that simple gesture had her curling her toes against a shiver of longing for his hands on her again. It must be hormones. She’d read in one of the pregnancy books that the middle trimester brought an extra surge of sensuality, something she hadn’t believed until this moment.

  “I’m pregnant,” she blurted. So much for a dignified speech. Definitely not a time to add Merry Christmas.

  “So I hear.” His blue eyes heated over her, unblinking.

  “And it’s yours.”

  “Of course.”

  Arrogant, sexy ass. All wishes to avoid confrontation slipped away as something unusually contrary snapped inside her. But then she never acted as expected around this man. “Why are you so sure?”

  “Because you told me.” He walked around the edge of the desk and set her shoe on the mouse pad. “I’ve doubled my father’s fortune by knowing who to trust and who’s a liar.”

  “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

  “I’ve never been wrong before, Brooke. I’m assuming it was during the hot tub. We got a little carried away then.” His silky blue eyes oozed sensuality at just the mere mention of that steamy encounter.

  She gulped. “Uh-huh. That would be my guess.”

  He tucked her wayward hair behind her ear. “Besides, your soulful brown eyes aren’t a liar’s eyes.”

  She forced her gaze to stay firmly locked with his—while vice-gripping the edge of the desk so her chair wouldn’t roll back. She wasn’t ready to reveal her stomach, to be that vulnerable. Not yet. “You’re saying I’m a sap?”

  “I’m saying you’re a good person. Far more so than I am, actually.” His hand fell to the leather blotter she’d cleared of paperwork for this meeting. “Besides, what would you gain by telling me this? Nothing.”

  “Ah, so your belief in me has more to do with logic than any mystical eye-reading abilities.”

  “Brooke. Quit stalling.”

  Babbling Brooke. Her father used to call her that whenever she got nervous. Yet she’d worked so hard to cultivate a cool facade after years of her mother’s hurtful, drunken jibes.

  Jordan was right. She was stalling, and all because she suffered from a silly, ridiculous—shallow—moment of self-consciousness. She definitely didn’t look like the same woman who’d crawled into bed with Jordan five months ago. Why couldn’t he have stayed on the other side of the desk for this conversation?

  So much for vanity.

  She rolled her chair back across the rose-colored Persian carpet and presented him with an unfettered view of her green dress clinging to her pregnant belly.

  Holy hell. Jordan’s mouth dried up.

  He’d heard about the pregnancy glow from friends and workmates, and quite frankly had thought it to be pure bunk. Until now.

  Brooke’s creamy skin had a touch-me luster. Her silky brown hair glistened with an extra sheen he could swear had multiplied since he’d last seen her.

  And the new swell of her breasts…His hands itched to explore them all over again.

  Finally, he let his gaze land on the curve of her stomach where the baby grew. Now that stirred something else alto
gether inside him. Something primal.

  His child.

  He’d known from the moment he heard the due date that the child was his. However, seeing the proof here in front him, seeing Brooke so amazingly full of his baby…He felt an all-new connection to her and to the life they’d created together. He wasn’t going to be shuffled aside, especially not by any stubborn Garrison with her fortress of family support.

  Jordan corralled his thoughts and narrowed his focus to her chin with that signature Garrison cleft. People might call him the hard-ass in the boardroom when it came to dealings for Jefferies Brothers, Incorporated, but he decided it wouldn’t hurt to let her see how this moment had rocked him.

  He sat on the edge of her desk and exhaled long, hard. “Damn, Brooke, that’s amazing.”

  Her gorgeous smile told him he’d struck gold.

  Her hand fell to rest over the slight curve. “I’m still getting used to it myself. That’s why I haven’t gotten around to telling you, yet.”

  He figured it wouldn’t be prudent to mention she’d found time to tell her whole freaking family. Alienating her gained him nothing and risked everything. “What matters is we’re here, now, together.”

  Together. The word stirred memories of their shared night. Those recollections linked up with the heat surging through him now simply by looking at her, by watching her pupils dilate in response.

  Why not let his attraction to Brooke—an attraction that had full well been reciprocated by her—be turned to his advantage?

  He reached again to stroke a stray lock back from her face. He took a slow moment to test the feel of it between his fingers, then graze her cheek with his knuckles, her skin as soft as her hair.

  “Jordan,” she began, her brow furrowing in a surefire precursor to a discussion he hoped to forestall. “I know this could get complicated, but I’ll have my lawyers contact yours about making sure you have—”