Page 2 of Surprise Baby for the Enemy

“Well, I never take without giving,” I promise, and lean my elbow on the counter to mirror her pose exactly. She grins, following. “What’s your name?”

“Raleigh,” she answers, giving me a magnificent bat of her dark lashes. No last name. Interesting. I was hoping it would help me figure out why I feel like I’ve seen her before. “You?”

“Derrick,” I say. I wait for the inevitable moment where she remembers me from my campaign commercials, but she doesn’tfill in my last name. Instead, her dark painted mouth speaks my name, making it sound better than it ever has before.

“Der-rick,” she repeats, drawing out each syllable and letting the “k” click in her throat.

I can’t help myself. I imagine that open mouth, that pink tongue, those plump, dark lips, fitted snugly around my cock.

I don’t care that this is clearly what she wants, and I’m the fly getting caught in her sticky trap. The one who’s getting tied down tonight isn’t going to be me.

Raleigh’s drink arrives, but she doesn’t bother ordering any desserts off the menu she asked for. I choose to take that, and the long gulp she takes of her White Russian, as a good sign. She’s not interested in spending longer than necessary here, and perhaps that means she wants to be ready to be invited elsewhere.

Time to start covering bases.

“So Raleigh,” I say, as she lowers her glass, “did your dress come before your hair dye, or after?”

Raleigh seems pleased to be asked, which can only be expected of a woman who’s put enough time and effort into her appearance that she looks like she’s just walked off a fashion shoot. She runs a hand through her heavy raven curls, letting them hang over her breast for me to properly admire their lavender tips. The light in her eyes doesn’t last, though.

“My best friend got married tonight, and I was her maid of honor,” she says, but the pride in her voice feels forced. Like something she knows is expected of her. “She ditched the afterparty early, becauseobviouslyshe had better things to do with her husband, so I figured my job was done.”

This feels true on a surface level, but clearly she had other reasons for abandoning the reception and going straight to a high-end bar. Did she not approve of the groom? “And there was no one you wanted to leave the party with yourself?”

She grimaces and takes another gulp of her drink. “Mmm, I’m really not interested in sleeping with someone I know tonight.”

Well, that makes things transparent. Whether she’s here escaping family drama or not, sheishere to pick up a sex partner.

I return to thoughts of her pretty mouth moving down my body, and let her see my hunger in the quirk of my own lips. Raleigh’s eyes darken.

“It’s a good thing I’ve only told you my name then,” I say. “I’ll make you breakfast and tell you the rest tomorrow.”

Raleigh’s dimple reappears. “Will there be coffee?”

There won’t be, because I hate coffee, and don’t own a coffee machine. But I suppose I should’ve seen this coming, considering her cocktail. I laugh. “Maybe I’ll take you out for breakfast instead.”

She rolls her eyes theatrically. “Well, you’ve lost some points, Derrick. But I suppose you couldn’t be too perfect,” she sighs, which makes my grin widen.

“Finish your drink,” I tell her, and swallow the rest of mine. Raleigh throws hers back, drinking the last half of her White Russian in one go. Is that a competitive spirit I see in her squared shoulders, or nerves? When she slides off her stool and faces me, I can finally admire her perfect hourglass figure.

I hold out the crook of my elbow for her to take. Raleigh tosses her head and takes my arm, smiling up at me through her lashes. Her hazel eyes catch the light of the artful glass chandelier above our heads.

I almost tear my own arm back from her grip.

Her hazel eyes, which I should’ve recognized before now. I’ve seen them in a different face. And I’ve seenherface, even if it was just in passing, and her hair wasn’t dipped in lavender then.

I know why she’s familiar now, and as I keep that realization buried and walk the two of us out of the lounge, I kick myself for not realizing it sooner.

A shadowed figure moves at the edges of the parking lot, then another. I expect them to come toward us, but they hang back, watching as I open the passenger door of my car for Raleigh. I clock a third shadow as I round my car to the driver’s side. Were these people in the bar, watching me pick Raleigh up? Or, as now seems far more likely, Raleigh pickingmeup.

They aren’t moving in now, which means they’re waiting for me to get back to my house. Then they’ll begin their intimidation, or questioning, or whatever else Thomas Warwick has planned for me.

Because the woman I’ve just tucked into my car, the one I’ve just agreed to spend a night and a meal with, is none other than Raleigh Warwick- Thomas’s younger sister, the man who has hung like a guillotine’s blade over my head for the last six months.

Fuck. Me.

CHAPTER 2

Raleigh

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