Pregnant by the Cowboy CEO

The tangy scent of masculine after-shave teased Amie’s nose.

Was it wafting from behind her? Or just clinging to her body to remind her of what she’d done?

Her grandmother took Amie’s hand in a cool grasp. Despite her frailty, Mariah’s grip was firm, confident. “Amie, dear, I was just looking for you to introduce you. But I see you and Preston have met.”

Foreboding iced out residual passion. “Preston?”

Amie’s brain worked overtime to make the pieces fit any other way but the one she feared.

Yet the magnetic, compelling man she’d just given herself to in a coat closet stepped around her, his eyebrows now pinched together as he whispered, “Amie?”

Her stomach dropped like she’d just fallen down an elevator shaft. Dawning realization robbed her of speech, her mouth bone-dry.

Her grandmother squeezed Amie’s hand as she smiled at Preston.

“I’m so glad you’ve had a chance to get to know our new CEO.”

* * *

Pregnant by the Cowboy CEO is part of the Diamonds in the Rough trilogy: The McNair cousins must pass their grandmother’s tests to inherit their fortune—and find true love!

Pregnant by the Cowboy CEO

Catherine Mann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling author CATHERINE MANN lives on a sunny Florida beach with her flyboy husband and their four children. With more than forty books in print in over twenty countries, she has also celebrated wins for both a RITA^® Award and a Booksellers’ Best Award. Catherine enjoys chatting with readers online—thanks to the wonders of the internet, which allows her to network with her laptop by the water! Contact Catherine through her website, www.catherinemann.com, find her on Facebook and Twitter (@CatherineMann1), or reach her by post at PO Box 6065, Navarre, FL 32566, USA.

To my family—my world

Table of Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Two months ago

Amie McNair had never considered a one-night stand. Until now.

A champagne fountain gurgled beside her as she stared across the ballroom full of partiers gathered to celebrate her cousin’s engagement. The night had been fun so far, but too similar to so many other glittering events that she attended in her work. She’d been thinking up an excuse to leave soon so she could trade her silky dress for the comfort of cotton pajamas. The jeweled choker at her throat was a gorgeous piece, but the yellow diamond at the base of her throat felt heavy. Tight. Like a collar keeping her neck in check. She liked her longer, bohemian-style pendants.

Those mundane thoughts scattered when he entered the room.

The broad-shouldered man striding confidently through the arched entryway pulled the air from her lungs. The connection was instantaneous. She wasn’t quite certain why, but she forgot all about a desire for cotton pj’s or the need to tug off her necklace. Her nerve endings sat up and paid attention.

Sure, he was tall, dark and hunky. But her world was filled with commanding, powerful men—from the cowboys that worked on her family’s Hidden Gem Hobby Ranch, to the executives who worked in the family’s Diamonds in the Rough jewelry-design empire. This man certainly measured up, from his muscled chest in the custom-tailored tuxedo, to the black Stetson he swept from his head and passed to an attendant near the entrance.

Yes, a Stetson and a tux.

And a boldly handsome face, tanned, with a strong square jaw. A face that had been lived in. His coal-black hair had a sprinkling of silver at the temples. That hint of age shouted wisdom, resolve. Experience.

A shiver tingled through her, gathering in all the right places.

Yet, in spite of all that, she found herself drawn most to his eyes. Even from halfway across the ballroom she could see they were a mesmerizing mix of gold and green that shifted ever so slightly with the chandelier sparkling overhead. She’d worked with amber that color in her jewelry designs and the changeable nature of the hue fascinated her. His gaze swept over her, past, then back again.

Holding.

That shiver inside her turned into a full-fledged fire. Her hand trembled and she set aside her champagne glass, her body already drawn forward in an undeniable magnetic pull. The urge to find out more about him propelled her feet across the room in time with the live band playing a classic Patsy Cline love song. Amie walked beneath the oversize, multicolored paper lanterns that decorated the room, toward the mystery man as he angled past guests in tuxes and formal gowns.

Other women noticed him, too, some of them watching every bit as intently as she did. But his eyes stayed on her as he closed the gap one bold step at a time.

Who was he? She knew most of the guests but didn’t recognize him. Still, enough people nodded in greeting to him for her to know he wasn’t a party crasher.

His gaze stroked over her, his hazel eyes gliding along her body like whispery smoke, confirming the awareness was reciprocated. She let herself relish the feeling, because honest to God, the last year had drained her. The grief over her grandmother’s cancer, over the impending loss of the most important person in her life was heavy. Too heavy. From tip to toe, she hurt over losing her grandmother and, knowing Gran’s legacy, her company was in the process of being handed over to a new CEO. So much change. Not the way her family’s business was meant to be handled.

But right now, for the first time since her grandmother had announced her terminal brain tumor, there was a distraction from that ache in her heart.

A compelling, fascinating distraction.

She stopped in front of him, only a few inches apart. The crowd was so thick around them, the hum of their conversation and the band’s tune created a false bubble of privacy. He held his silence, just looking back at her with a furrowed brow. Nice to know she wasn’t the only one baffled by this moment.

She certainly didn’t believe in love at first sight, but she couldn’t deny the chemistry, the intense attraction, the connection that felt like more than simple lust. She understood physical attraction but considered herself beyond those superficial types of relationships. After all, her mother had trotted her across pageant stage from toddler days. Hair teased. Makeup. Ruffled custom dresses and shiny tap shoes.

Amie had been judged on her appearance, her walk, her smile for longer than she could remember. She’d seen enough backstabbing beauties with a Mona Lisa smile to know that the true value of a person went much deeper than the surface. Even knowing that, she couldn’t deny how much she wanted this man.

She meant to say hello or introduce herself or ask his name. Instead, she glanced at his hand. No wedding ring. No tan line. “Are you married?”

A dark eyebrow lifted in a brief flash of surprise.

“Are you?” His voice rumbled between them with a hint of twang.

Local? Not quite. But definitely from a nearby region. His voice tripped along her senses, a deep tone that shivered against her skin.

She shook her head. “I’m not married.”

“Me neither,” he answered simply, without touching her. “Are you seeing anyone?”

She liked that it mattered to him. That said something good about him. “No. Are you seeing anyone?”

“Only the woman in front of me.”

Oh. Damn. He was good. A small smile teased the corners of his mouth.

She wasn’t sure exactly who moved first, but somehow her hand was tucked in the crook of his arm and he led her to the dance floor where they moved silently, their bodies in tune, step for step, through a slower country-music classic. The thick clusters of bright paper lanterns made the room glow with a rainbow of colors.

She breathed in his scent, clean but spicy, too. Masculine. Heady. His touch warmed her where he touched her waist. Her hand.

How long had it been since she’d felt a man’s hands on her?

The energy between them crackled like static along her skin. Each chord from the string band strummed her oversensitive senses. She breathed in and he breathed out. Their steps synced effortlessly, her body responding to the slightest movement of his, shadowing his steps as she fell deeper into the spell of his gaze.

The dance gave her rare moments of pleasure in a year of hellish hurt and worry. No wonder she’d been drawn to him. She needed this. And in the same way that she could follow his steps, her body anticipating his next move, she could tell that he needed this, too. It was in his eyes. In the way his hand spanned her waist.

A step and swirl later and they were in the hall, then tucked in the deserted coatroom.

Then in each other’s arms.

The dim lighting cast the room in shadows as she arched up into his kiss, his arms strong around her, but loose enough she could leave if she wanted. But the last thing she wanted was to stop. Pleasure pulsed through her at the angling of his mouth over hers, the touch of his tongue to hers. The kiss went deeper, faster, spiraling out of control in the quiet of the coat closet—a seriously underutilized space since it was spring in Texas.

Still, someone could walk in, and while she wasn’t an exhibitionist, the possibility of discovery added an edge to an already razor-sharp need. The muffled sounds of music and partiers wafted under the door. She pressed herself to the hard planes of his body.

His arms moved up and he cupped her face, looking at her with those intense hazel eyes. “I don’t do this sort of thing, tuck into coat closets with a stranger.”

She covered his mouth with her hand. “We don’t need to make excuses we have no way of knowing are true. This moment just...is. I don’t understand why. But we’re here.” She took a deep breath of courage and said, “Lock the door.”

Without a word, his hand slid behind him and the lock clicked in the long closet. The simple sound unleashed her barely contained passion. She looped her arms around his neck and lost herself in the kiss again. In the feel and fantasy of this man.

Her breasts tingled and tightened into hard beads of achy need. She couldn’t remember when she’d been this turned inside out. She was thirty-one years old, not nearly a virgin. But she was unable to resist the draw of this stranger. The hard length of his erection pressed against her stomach, a heavy pressure that burned right through the silky dress she wore.

She couldn’t deny where this was headed or that she wanted this. Him. Now.

His mouth traveled down her neck, then along her collarbone. “Condom. In my wallet,” he said, his hands grazing under her breasts. “I’ll get it.”

He started to ease back and she stopped him, gripping his lapels.

“Let me.”

Slipping her hand into his tuxedo jacket, she let her fingers stroke across the muscled heat of his chest. This was a man, the very best kind, powerful in body and mind. She tugged his wallet from inside his jacket and considered for an instant looking for a name, ...but her thoughts were scattered by his hands over her hips, gathering her dress. She plucked out a condom packet and tossed his wallet to the floor.

His hands were back on her just as fast, roving, keeping the flame burning.

She unzipped his pants as he lifted her hem. Her gown bunched around her hips, he hitched her up onto the small corner table where the coat check would normally pass out tickets during colder months. The wood was cool against her legs and then she slid them up and around his waist as he pressed against her, into her, with a thick pressure that sent a moan rolling up her throat.

It wasn’t an elegant coupling. Her need was frenzied and his matched hers. This was crazy and out of control. And perfect. She lost herself in the pleasure, her senses heightened until everything felt...more. The tangy scent of his aftershave swirled inside her with every breath. Music muffled from the other room serenaded them, syncing their bodies into the most fundamental of dances.

And then thoughts disintegrated, the pace speeding, rising, bliss swelling inside her until she bit her lip to hold back a cry of pleasure that would betray their hideaway at any moment. He skimmed down the shoulder of her dress, dipping his head to take her breast in his mouth. That warm, moist tug took away the last of her restraint. Her head falling back, she surrendered to the orgasm sparkling through her like the facets off a diamond. The hoarse low sound of his release as he thrust deeply one last time sent another shimmer through her, leaving her languid, replete.

Using a last whisper of energy, she lolled forward. Her head rested on his shoulder as she waited for her racing heart to slow. His hands glided up and down her spine, easing her back to her feet, holding her up.

He smoothed her dress into place again and pressed a kiss to her temple. “We should tal—”

She shook her head. “Please. Don’t say anything.” She tugged her capped sleeve back over her shoulder and skimmed along her hair, the French braid having stayed miraculously in place, right down to the jeweled flower pin she’d clipped to the end of the braid. “Let’s go back out. Go to separate sides of the room. And when, or if, we meet...it will be for the first time. Let this be what it is.”

A fantasy. A once-in-a-lifetime crazy encounter—and she didn’t want to hear it was commonplace for him. Didn’t want to think about what she’d just done. Not while her body still trembled with pleasure and her heartbeat pulsed an erratic rhythm.

She didn’t wait for his answer.

Reaching behind her, she simply unlocked the door, tucking out and around. Her legs were less than steady as she made her way back to the ballroom, and the sound of his footsteps close behind her didn’t help. Was he following her? Was he going to insist or make a scene?

A mix of anticipation and dread made her chest tight with nerves.

The cool blast of the air conditioner in the hall rushed over her heated skin, goose bumps rising along her arms. The band still played, having picked up the speed with vintage Johnny Cash.

And before she could clear her head, she realized her grandmother had blocked her path. Mariah McNair looked regal but frail as she clutched her cane.

The tangy scent of masculine aftershave teased Amie’s nose. Was it wafting from him behind her? Or just clinging to her body to remind her of what she’d done?

Her grandmother gripped the cane in a hand bearing sparkling jeweled rings. One of them was an amethyst heart Amie had designed as a teenager. With her other hand, Mariah took hers in a cool grasp, her skin paper thin and covered with bruises from IVs. Despite her frailty, Mariah’s grip was firm, confident. “Amie, dear, I was just looking for you to introduce you. But I see you and Preston have met.”

Foreboding iced out residual passion. “Preston?”

Her brain worked overtime to make the pieces fit any other way but the one she feared.

Yet the magnetic, compelling man she’d just given herself to in a coat closet stepped around her, his eyebrows now pinched together as he whispered, “Amie?”

Her stomach dropped as if she’d just fallen down an elevator shaft. Dawning realization robbed her of speech, her mouth bone dry.

Her grandmother squeezed Amie’s hand as she smiled at Preston.

“I’m so glad you’ve had a chance to get to know our new CEO.” Mariah extended her hand to the man. “Welcome to the Hidden Gem Ranch.”

One

Two Months Later

Preston Armstrong was not a fan of weddings. Not even when he’d been the groom. Since his divorce ten years ago, he was even less entertained by overpriced ceremonial gatherings. He considered himself a practical businessman. That mind-set had taken him from a poor childhood to the top of the corporate ladder.

So, attending a marriage ceremony and seeing Amie McNair front and center of attention as a bridesmaid took his irritation to a whole deeper level—even now at the reception. Especially given that she’d ignored him for the past two months.

And most especially since she looked sexy as hell in a peach-colored bridesmaid’s dress. Weren’t those gowns supposed to be ugly, hated by bridal attendants around the world? But then, beautiful Amie with her luscious curves and confidence could probably make a burlap sack look sexy as hell. She’d won all those beauty-pageant titles for a reason.

Although he thought she was more alluring now with her at-ease boho look than the old runway-glitz photos that still periodically showed up in the social pages. Even her signature-designed coral teardrop earrings and necklace held his attention. Particularly the way that pendant nestled between the swell of her breasts.

He tipped his aged bourbon back, the sounds of the reception wrapping around him as he put in his required appearance at the McNair wedding event. He glanced at his watch, figuring he had to put in another half hour before he could check out and head back to the office. It was quiet there at night. He got more work done.

If Amie would talk to him alone for five damn minutes, he could reassure her that the closet encounter would never have happened if he’d known who she was. From the horrified expression on her face when her grandmother introduced them, clearly Amie didn’t want anything to do with him either.

Business and pleasure should be kept separate. Always.

He didn’t have the time or patience for awkwardness. He was confident. In charge. But that had all changed the minute he’d looked across the social function and saw a woman who’d flipped his world upside down.

This whole wedding week had gone to a new level of uncomfortable, to say the least. Being around Amie at work, they could keep things professional, if tense. It wasn’t easy with all those thoughts of their explosive encounter hammering through his memory, but he managed to keep his boardroom calm intact.

However, the parties this week reminded him too much of that night he’d met her at the newlyweds’ engagement shindig.

He’d meant it when he’d told her that impulsive encounter wasn’t the norm for him. While he wasn’t a monk, impetuous sex with strangers had never been his style. He’d spent a large part of his adult life married and monogamous. Then after his divorce, affairs had been careful, sensual but civil, with no long-term expectations.

He had affairs. Not hookups. And he sure as hell didn’t have anonymous sex with a woman more than a decade younger than him.

Until Amie. Nothing about her followed a familiar pattern for him.

Keeping his hands to himself today was an exercise in torture, just as at work. Hints of her sucker punched his libido. The soft scent of her perfume lingering in his office after a meeting. The heat of her as she stood near him in a crowded elevator. And the list went on since she worked in the same building, her role as a renowned gemologist crucial to some of the most popular Diamonds in the Rough jewelry lines.

Up on the small stage in the oversize barn, the country band returned from their break, taking their place again and picking up instruments. Although to call it a barn didn’t do the space justice. The reception was being held at the McNairs’ hobby ranch, Hidden Gem, so the place was high end rustic, just like the company jewels.

Gold chandeliers and puffs of white flowers dangled from the rough-hewn rafters. Strings of lights crisscrossed the ceiling, creating a starlit-night atmosphere. Bouquets of baby’s breath and roses tied with burlap bows on the tables made him recall his earlier thought about Amie classing up a burlap sack. The inside had been transformed into rustic elegance, with gold chairs and white tulle draped throughout.

At the entry table next to the leather guestbook, seating cards were tied to horseshoes that had the bride’s and groom’s names engraved along with the wedding date. A cowbell hung on a brass hook with a sign that stated, Ring for a Kiss.

Good God. He wanted out of here. He knocked back the rest of the bourbon.

Amie’s cousin Stone McNair, the former CEO of Diamonds in the Rough, was the groom, and there was no doubt he believed in all this forever, happily-ever-after nonsense as he twirled his blonde bride around on the dance floor.

At least the ceremony in the chapel had been brief. One bridesmaid and one groomsman—Amie and her twin brother, Alex. Amie’s dark brown hair was loose, in thick spiral curls that made him want to tug just to see what she would do.

To hell with standing around. He might as well confront the awkwardness. It wasn’t as if she could run away from him here.

He set aside the cut-crystal glass and strode through the crowd, a who’s who list of Texas rich and famous. Just like that night two months ago, he made his way to her, this time determined for closure rather than a start of something.

Getting her semi-alone here shouldn’t be too tough. The exclusive venue had plenty of dark corners arranged for privacy so guests could visit and catch up.

He stopped behind her, smiling over her shoulder at the mayor. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Miss McNair promised me this dance.”

Amie gasped, her mouth opening to protest. But Preston took her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor before she could speak. He hauled her out in front of the small chamber orchestra, moving quickly before the stunned expression could melt from her elegant face. Before a closed, frosty one took its place. He’d watched that transformation too often over the last eight weeks and it was time to put an end to it.

He slid an arm around her and drew her close, those dark brown curls brushing him. “You look lovely tonight. Especially for being stuck in a bridesmaid’s dress.”

“It would have been nice to be asked if I wanted to dance. What are you doing?”

“Dancing with the groom’s cousin. A perfectly acceptable move, nothing to draw attention to us. Unless you cause a scene out here in front of your whole family, our business acquaintances and some mighty prominent politicians.”

Which he definitely did not want her to do. Then, he would have to let her go. And he liked the feel of her in his arms again too much to have her walk away yet.

“Fine,” she conceded, blue eyes predictably turning to ice as she spoke. “Let’s dance for appearances. Gran’s always saying it’s good for the company if we show a unified front.”

Oh, he had her here for more than appearances and business. He was going to find a way to get past her cold shoulder. He couldn’t stop the attraction, and chances were slim to none that he would be able to act on it. But he could damn well do something to disperse the tension between them.

He hoped.

Preston sidestepped another couple and swept her to a less crowded corner of the dance floor, mindful of the security guards posted around the perimeter of the event. “It’s quite a party tonight. Congratulations to your cousin and his bride on their nuptials.”

If Stone hadn’t given up his role as CEO of Diamonds in the Rough, Preston wouldn’t have been here. And the job was damn important to him. His job was all he had after the crash and burn of his personal life.

She smiled tightly, her body stiff and unyielding in his arms. “We do have all the tools for a first-rate wedding at our disposal.”

The bride’s thirty-thousand-dollar tiara had been custom designed for the event; in fact, a delicately understated piece that Amie had worked on personally for weeks. The tiara alone had created industry buzz and media coverage alike, a key piece in the company’s new bridal collection.

“Do you realize this is the first time we’ve spoken about anything other than business?” He respected her work ethic, and discovering that admirable trait about her made this all the more difficult. Unlike her father, she was more than a figurehead. Amie contributed immeasurably to the company, so Preston crossed her path. Often.

She angled closer and for an instant he thought maybe...his pulse sped. His gaze dropped to her mouth. To her lips, parted.

And then, too soon, her breath teased against his neck as she whispered, “I just want to make it clear, we won’t be heading for the coat closet tonight.”

There was no mistaking her determination. Too bad her method for delivering the news had him ready to sweep her off her feet and back to the cabin he’d reserved on the property for the night.

“I’m quite clear on that after your big chill these past two months.” His hand twitched against her waist, the memory of her satiny skin still burned in his memory. “I’m just glad to know you’re finally willing to acknowledge it happened.”

“Of course it happened,” she hissed between pearly-white teeth. “I was very much there.”

The brush of her body against his was sweet torture. “I remember well.”

Shadows shifted through her sky blue eyes. “Did you know who I was that night?”

Her words slowed his feet, stunning him. He picked up the dance pace again and asked, “Is that what you’ve thought all this time? That I played you on purpose?”

“Forget I said anything.” She pulled back. “It doesn’t matter now.”

He strengthened his hold. “Not that you would believe me regardless of what I say. Although it was more than clear you didn’t know who I was, and if you had, that night wouldn’t have happened.” He touched her face lightly. “And that would have been a damn shame.”

They stood so close, their mouths only a couple of inches apart. He remembered how good she tasted—and how complicated that had made things for them the past couple of months. Having an affair with her would be a bad idea, given he was her boss and she was the granddaughter of the major stockholder.

But God, he was tempted.

So was she. He could see it in her jewel-blue eyes and the way she swayed toward him an instant before she stepped back.

Grasping his wrists, she pulled his arms from her. “I’m not sure what spurred you to reminisce right now since you don’t seem to be the type to get sentimental at weddings. But now is not the time or the place for this discussion.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You’re willing to talk then? Later?”

She held up a hand. “Talk. Only. I mean that.”

“Let’s step outside—”

“No. Not here. Not tonight.”

He reached for her, sensing already she was just putting him off again. “Amie, if this is another stall tactic—”

“We’ll have our secretaries check our calendars and schedule a lunch next week. Okay? Is that specific enough for you? Now, I need to check on my grandmother.” She spun away in a swirl of peach silk.

Standing in the middle of the dance floor, he watched her walk away, the sway of her hips and those million-dollar legs peeking through a slit in the dress. Stepping off the dance floor, he wondered what the hell he hoped to gain in a conversation with her. An affair, given their work connection, was a bad idea, but he wasn’t in the market for anything long term. Not again.

He charged back to the bar for another bourbon on the rocks, ignoring a waiter’s offering of the evening’s signature beverage, a Mouton Rothschild favored by the couple. Tonight, bourbon would do just fine. Marriage hadn’t worked out well for him. At all. Just ask his ex. He was too absorbed with work, too much of a loner. After all, a boss couldn’t party with his subordinates, which put a serious dent in any kind of social life. He wanted to say that’s what had made him so susceptible to Amie that first night, but he knew it was more than that. He was a man of control. Calm. Yet, the second he’d seen Amie, he’d claimed her with that first look in an explosive chemistry that went beyond any he’d experienced before, even with his ex-wife.

No wonder his marriage had failed early on. He’d made a fortune and in the end it hadn’t made a bit of difference when things mattered most.

Rather than subject their daughter to a divorce, he and his wife had tried to hold it together for their child. But theirs had become a marriage in name only. Eventually, his ex had found someone else. She’d told Preston her new love would at least be around, which was better for Leslie than an absentee father. He’d bought into that, feeling guilty as hell and incapable of giving his child what she needed.

He’d replayed that decision a million times over, wondering if he’d fought harder for his marriage, for his child, if life could have turned out differently. Guilt piled on top of more guilt.

His baby girl had flown out of control during her teen years. Drugs, alcohol, sex. He’d tried grounding her, taking away her car, her allowance. He’d planned to take a vacation week to spend time with her, let her pick the vacation spot. She’d turned him down.

He should have persisted. He’d thought about it. Then it was too late.

Leslie ran off with her boyfriend the day after graduation, seventeen years old, pregnant. She’d ignored all offers of help and advice, determined to put her parents and the lifestyle she hated behind her. She hadn’t cared about wealth or private jets. Hadn’t wanted her own driver or a massive home. She’d even snubbed a doctor’s care.

She and her baby boy had died seven months into the pregnancy. Premature delivery. Something with the placenta presenting first. His daughter, Leslie, bled to death. The baby lived for two days before dying.