Boss’s Baby Acquisition (Convenient Wives Club #2)

Chapter One

IN A NAVY sundress and nude sandals, Phoebe Copeland ambled up the Tuscan country road, opera blasting in her earbuds, living out her dolce vita dreams. Money was tight but she’d made it to the second-to-last day before almost running out and, given she’d dined like a queen at her singular restaurant splurge two nights ago, the perfect plump peach she’d stuffed in the side pocket of her cross-body bag would be enough stop her stomach rumbling. She crossed the road to take advantage of the shade as she toiled up. Her parents would be appalled at her pace, but this wasn’t a race, this was relaxation. In twenty minutes she’d be sitting by the small pool, eating her fruit, reading her book. In other words, she’d be in heaven.

Before she’d left London her besties, Elodie and Bethan, had joked she needed a holiday fling, but Phoebe didn’t need a man to make this her ultimate overseas escape. She’d not opted for a tourist resort, or a pumping city with party-all-hours nightlife, but rather rented a small cottage on the outskirts of a small village for the week. She’d haltingly chatted to market vendors each morning and spent her afternoons reading and relaxing alone. She’d never prioritised self-care before but, when she got back to London, she was maintaining it and that was actually possible now she’d finally quit the job where she’d been taken advantage of for years.

No more push-over Phoebe. No more pleaser Phoebe. No more desperately seeking approval from her parents or employer and certainly not her cheating ex-husband. Nor any other man for that matter. No more reliance on everyone else for a sense of self-worth. She would value herself. And here she was, doing exactly that. Pleasure rippled as she zoned out in a blissful dream state.

The cannon ball came out of nowhere.

The world went black. She blinked. Three times. Then the world went blue. Bright blue.

Oh, there’s an angel …

He was hovering above her, his face swimming in and out of focus, an arrested expression in his espresso-brown eyes—oh, they were rich and deep with a hint of bitter at the edge. She felt no pain. Felt nothing at all as an angelic choir sang. She’d quietly died and gone to heaven and the dude at the pearly gates was other world gorgeous.

For some reason he was also shirtless. As he leaned closer she sank beneath the spell of his bottomless eyes, sculpted cheekbones and fleetingly wondered whether his close-cropped hair would feel soft or spiky beneath her fingers. His mouth moved but she couldn’t hear him. She just stared into his eyes, fascinated by their endless depths. She could stare into his eyes for all eternity. Happily, he stared back in a timeless moment of heavenly connection. But then his hands obscured her view of his stunning face and her head moved slightly.

Sensation returned and the operatic chorus was silenced. Oh. He’d removed her earbuds. She gazed at him, fuzzily trying to work out what was going on, only her limbs felt oddly weakened and the longer she looked into his eyes, the weaker her bones became. She blinked again. His facial structure really was very chiselled and the slight shadow on his jaw emphasised it. His sensual lips curved as he murmured something, but she still didn’t catch what. She watched his gaze drift down and then felt every cell within her reawaken simply by that caress of attention, not even touch. More than reawaken—something intense ignited. Something hot. Something she’d not felt in ages—if ever, actually.

It took far too long to realise the blue behind him was the sky. Which meant she was flat on her back. He’d come sprinting round the corner as if the devil was at his heels. Which probably meant he wasn’t an angel. And she definitely wasn’t dead.

Another couple of faces appeared over his shoulder. More chiselled men. Her pulse jumped. Had she inadvertently walked into a military exercise? They looked like lean, muscled elite soldiers—though the one who’d collided with her was the only one without a shirt.

A volley of Italian began. Questions. Answers. Orders . None of which she understood. Her ‘Easy-to-Learn Italian’ app really hadn’t prepared her for the speed at which the locals conversed even though she’d diligently done daily lessons for almost two years and was top points scorer in the league. But she didn’t need to understand Italian to know who was in command.

And who wasn’t . It finally registered that she was sprawled on a quiet, dusty road with her dress rucked up in front of a bunch of big, strong, potentially scary men. The non-angel hadn’t taken his focus off her, despite his authoritative instructions to those guys behind him, and now his frown deepened. He said something snappy and the other faces disappeared, leaving just that blue sky haloing his perfect face.

‘Okay,’ he said in perfect but sexily accented English. ‘Where’s home?’

A tiny flat in North London. She’d bought it a couple of years ago. She’d worked so hard to get the deposit, taking leftovers for lunch, saving every penny, working an extra job at the weekend. She’d been able to give that up when Bethan had moved into her spare room. Not that Phoebe charged her much rent—Bethan had hardly been able to afford anything after her marriage had ended so badly. But the flat was hers and she was so proud of owning it.

‘Where are you staying?’ her non-angel asked slowly.

A slight edge in his voice brought her back to the present. She drew a breath, embarrassed by the way she’d been staring. He wasn’t some celestial creature. He was a man. A good-looking one, yes, but she could get a grip. She wasn’t irrevocably altered. Much. Was she?

‘It doesn’t matter. I can get there.’ She was delighted to hear her voice sounded almost normal. ‘What were you doing?’

‘Sprint sessions.’

‘And crashed into me.’ She stared at him. ‘How could you not see me?’

‘How could you not hear me?’ He held up her earbuds and added a damning drawl to his suddenly supercilious look. ‘Oh, because you weren’t paying attention. Plus, you shouldn’t have been walking on this side of the road.’

So this was her fault? She didn’t think so. ‘Well, you shouldn’t…’ Be so ridiculously good-looking. She sighed. ‘You should just carry on with your sprints.’

‘Can’t do that.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘You’re white as snow.’

That was actually a normal state of affairs for her. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Really?’ He couldn’t sound more sceptical as he offered his hand. ‘Stand up then.’

She froze while her heart hammered. She didn’t need belated chivalry from him. Only there were all those guys watching, and he had an implacable expectation that she would do as he decreed, which gave her the feeling that if she didn’t he might do something worse. As in even more embarrassing.

She compressed her mouth, hoping to hide the effect he had on her, and put her hand in his. It wasn’t just electricity that shot up her arm, it was magnetism. As in the strongest pull ever. Startled, she glanced up just as his long lashes lowered, veiling his gaze as he easily helped her to her feet.

Pain lanced her ankle—the old injury came back to haunt her at the worst moment. She smothered the wince and strove for a bland expression. He didn’t release her as she expected but instead drew her closer, keeping her hand in his while circling his other arm around her back until they stood as if they were about to slow dance. She didn’t know where to look—into his eyes was spellbinding; into his bare chest was scorching and both options simply stoked the heat flickering in her belly. His gaze slid slowly down her again and her inner response went wild.

‘Your ankle—’

‘Is fine,’ she lied through gritted teeth, desperate to get away and recalibrate.

‘You have to walk how far?’

About another twenty minutes. She would be fine. She’d walked far further on way worse, which was how she’d incurred the weakness in the first place—but she could manage this. If they would all just move along she would crawl home in mortified privacy. But she couldn’t figure out how to answer him.

Phoebe worked hard to be cool, calm, collected—most importantly, she was measured . She delivered—discreetly and with no fuss, no frills—because she kept her feelings under control. She’d never let the arrogant authoritarian types she worked for get to her. Admittedly, that had sometimes been misinterpreted as her being something of a door mat, but she wasn’t. She just focused on managing her own reactions because extremes in anything weren’t healthy. But managing her reaction to this man—one definitely arrogant and authoritarian, not to mention handsome man—was a challenge.

‘Are you going to tell me or are we going to stand out here all day?’ he prompted.

She couldn’t unclamp her jaw to answer. He released her hand only to suddenly sweep her into his arms, throwing her so off-balance, she flung her hands around his neck.

‘I apologise for my sweaty state,’ he muttered. ‘Your dress is dusty. I’m sorry about that too.’

‘Put me down,’ she hissed thinly.

‘You’re in pain.’

Not any more. She was in full cardiac arrest from mortification. ‘I can manage. I have no desire to be swept off my feet.’

Amusement burned off that bitter edge in his eyes. ‘Is that not the dream of all women?’

‘By a possibly psychotic stranger?’

His eyes widened. Hell, he almost looked wounded. ‘You would prefer one of the others carry you?’

She looked askance at the other men and instinctively pressed closer to the half-naked, god-like one currently holding her. She blamed the electric response she’d had, because it wasn’t that she felt safer with him, more that she didn’t want to move away.

‘No? Better the devil you know?’ There was the slightest wink.

‘I don’t know you,’ she muttered dryly. ‘And I don’t need any of you to carry me.’

‘Know this, I won’t hurt you.’ He cocked his head and a flash of rue sparked. ‘Any more than I already have. I’ll escort you home.’

Um…no. Phoebe knew she was no lightweight. ‘You can’t possibly carry me all that way.’

His sensual smile curved. Wrong move . She’d just challenged him. Here he was, pushing to run faster than all the others. She tensed. She knew this ultra-competitive type so very well. People driven to be the best were often so singularly focused they excluded pretty much anyone and anything else in their lives. Her parents were a prime example of such extremism and Phoebe had been the excess baggage they’d ditched.

‘Ah,’ her determined ‘rescuer’ murmured. ‘A scrap of information at last.’

‘I can manage. You don’t need to perform in front of your friends.’ She knew she was merely a tool to show off his superior strength to his crew now. She hated that kind of show, her ex had acted all over her in front of others. But it had been an act . ‘There’s no need to create a scene.’

‘I quite agree.’ He kept walking.

Phoebe tensed. Not just because he was ignoring her but because being pressed close to him was shockingly—instinctively—arousing. He was big and strong, and never had she felt instant lust like this. She felt a primal need to quell it. ‘Are you always this authoritarian?’

‘Are you always this argumentative?’

‘You won’t make it.’

‘Watch me.’

She groaned at his bone-headedness.

‘You’re my responsibility,’ he added.

‘I’m really not,’ she said stiffly.

He sighed heavily. ‘I feel guilty. All the time. This is one mistake I can actually rectify, so please allow me to.’

Phoebe was silenced—he looked and sounded astonishingly sincere. The depths in his eyes were intense. As was his hold on her. And then she pulled herself together.

‘I thought it was my fault,’ she muttered.

‘It was. Mostly.’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘You need medical attention,’ he added pragmatically. ‘Your ankle might be broken.’

‘At most it’s a sprain. You really don’t need to bother.’ She almost pleaded with him to release her from this searing attraction.

‘It’s no bother.’

Aware of all the other men—keeping their distance but keenly watching—she gritted her teeth. She felt his amusement triple and tried not to overreact more. He’d run into her—literally—and he wanted to make sure she got home safely, that was all. But her instincts warned that he posed some kind of threat.

She heard a vehicle on the road behind them, a heavy engine that sounded like it was slowing. Her non-angel paused and there were noisy shouts of Italian. More men. More laughter. They were all watching. Great. She should have spent way more time on her Italian app.

‘We can get a ride on the truck if you would like,’ he said.

Yeah, no, she didn’t get in vehicles with strange men.

Her non-angel turned slightly, keeping her screened from the stares of the men. ‘Luca has farmed here all his life. He has five daughters and he’ll ensure you get there safely.’

So was he going to leave her with the old man?

‘Or, if you prefer—’ his eyes glittered ‘—I can carry you the entire way.’

Um… No. Because while he didn’t seem to be breaking any more of a sweat, her body had decided it was all for this intimacy, and it was scraping her nerves along a very particular, inappropriate edge. She was making this whole humiliating episode a far worse spectacle than it needed to be. Phoebe wasn’t like Elodie—she didn’t like to put on a show or want to be in the spotlight, certainly not since her ex had put her there for his own performance reasons.

‘The truck would be great,’ she muttered awkwardly. ‘Please thank Luca for me before you go.’

He stared at her for another second then spun and carried her to the back of the truck. One of the warriors was already there. The heavy-set man undid the tray door, spread out an old blanket and put her bag down. She must have dropped it in the melee. Her determined rescuer effortlessly carried her up with one giant step.

‘You’ll be more comfortable here.’ He placed her on the blanket, then sat beside her and winked. ‘I told you I would see you home safely.’

The relief was insane. She didn’t want him to see it but as she couldn’t turn away from the expression in his eyes, he doubtless did. He had a slightly smug half-smile but as she stared, he sobered. Time slipped.

Suddenly she was consumed by the crazy notion that he was thinking about kissing her. Worse, she was definitely thinking about kissing him. Definitely considering that perfect Cupid’s bow of his top lip—considering running the tip of her tongue along the edge of it. Definitely appreciating his heat and power and wanting to feel more of it. Definitely seeing heat mirrored in his gaze. Definitely sensing his magnetism strengthen. Time slowed even more. Her head angled and she leaned—before snatching a breath, stopping herself from tumbling closer just in time. She tried to stabilise her suddenly chaotic pulse. She’d definitely taken a knock to the head and maybe it had triggered some loss of her personal boundaries because she’d never felt as intensely, immediately attracted to anyone. Or as willing to act on it.

‘What about your friends?’ she asked distractedly as the driver released the brake. Good thing she was leaving the country tomorrow because she was embarrassing herself completely here.

‘They’ll be fine.’

She watched the four men sprint back in the direction from which they’d come while the truck moved almost slower than her walking pace. Her non-angel wrapped an arm around her, cushioning her from the bumps. She looked anywhere but his eyes, which left her with his body. His legs were long and muscular and she noted a fresh scrape on his knee.

‘You’re bleeding,’ she said softly. ‘Pass my bag, I’ve got some plasters.’

‘I’ll live. Your stomach is rumbling.’ He picked up her bag but as he did, it popped open and her now very bruised peach escaped the side pocket. ‘This was lunch?’ He retrieved it with a growl. ‘It’s insufficient.’ He tossed it over the side of the truck.

Antagonism flared. She was starving and that was all she had. ‘You think I can’t take care of myself?’

‘I know you were walking on the wrong side of the road on a blind corner,’ he said dryly, handing her bag to her. ‘You’re lucky it was me coming down the hill and not a car or you’d have a lot worse than a broken ankle.’

‘ Sprained ankle.’ But as much as she didn’t want to admit it, he was right. ‘There’s not a lot of traffic on that road. I’d have heard a car.’

‘We were not quiet,’ he replied. ‘So you’ll understand why I doubt your self-care abilities.’

‘I’d been nailing self-care actually,’ she murmured, setting her bag beside her. ‘I was enjoying the weather and the peace and the pool and I had a nice peach to eat and now you—hey, he missed the turn-off!’ She glanced up in alarm as the track to the cottage receded from view. ‘You need—’

‘You need medical attention and a decent lunch.’ His arm tightened.

Her jaw dropped.

‘You’re dazed .’ He nudged her mouth shut with a gentle knuckle beneath her chin. ‘You might have a concussion. You shouldn’t be alone right now.’

‘What makes you think I’d be alone?’

‘No one who cared about you would let you distractedly wander about a foreign country all by yourself and with only a peach to eat.’