“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “You can add a café Americano and a chocolate cider donut for me.”
She’d raised another eyebrow after the ma’am; she couldn’t be more than midtwenties, but he was a gentleman born and bred.
After handing him his much-needed coffee and donut, Eva went over to the women’s table with two more donuts and two more coffee drinks. She whispered something, then lifted her chin at him. Two sets of eyes widened, and they looked over.
He locked eyes with his brunette. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The woman he planned on spending the night with. He’d show her an amazing evening, treat her like a princess, give her anything her heart desired, and then they’d go their separate ways, maybe not even knowing each other’s last names. They’d each get what they needed—a night of pure fantasy—and then they’d go back to real life.
He froze, mentally slapping his palm to his forehead. He hadn’t even checked her ring finger. The auburn-haired woman she was with wore an engagement ring; he could see that a mile away. But now that he was looking at his brunette’s hand, he was relieved to see there was no ring.
Which meant she was his. For the night. Maybe for the few days it would take him to convince Guthrie Barnes to sell.
Eva waved him over, and he sidled up. The brunette was staring at him. The auburn-haired friend seemed delighted by the turn of events. “Mikayla Brown, Amy Wainwright, I don’t even have to ask this man’s name to know he’s a Jones brother. I’m right, right?” she said, looking at him.
He laughed. “Was it the diamond-encrusted J on my belt buckle that gave me away?”
“That and the fact that everything you’re wearing probably cost you more than rent on this place for a few months. And I’m pretty sure I saw you with your brothers at our party at the manor a few weeks ago. We didn’t have a chance to meet then—I think the whole town was there. I’m Eva Stockton.”
He smiled. “Jensen Jones. And yes, I was there. Great party. Congratulations on your marriage.” He bit into the donut on his plate. Chocolate cider, his favorite. “Mmm—this donut is so good you should charge a thousand bucks for just one.”
“You’d probably pay that,” Eva said, shaking her head with a smile.
“Hey, my family might have done all right in business, but we’re not idiots. Two thousand.”
The three women laughed, and then the bell jangled, so Eva went back to the counter.
“Mikayla,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her. “I know this is going to sound crazy. We just met. We don’t know a thing about each other. But I’m going to be in town for a few days and would love for you to show me around, show me the sights—if you’re free, of course.”
His fantasy woman looked positively shocked. Her mouth dropped slightly open, that sexy, pink lower lip so inviting, and she glanced at her friend. Both their eyes widened again, as if his asking her out, politely couched in terms of a sightseeing guide, was so unusual. The woman was beautiful, her lush breasts in that yellow sundress so damned sexy. Surely she was hit on constantly. Maybe not by millionaires, though.
Ah, Jensen thought, disappointment socking him in the gut. That was it. That was what was so unusual about his interest. She probably wasn’t used to attention from a man with so many commas in his bank account.
Another gold digger? Oh, hell, what did it matter if she were? Jensen wasn’t going there—never again. His heart wasn’t up for grabs. Mikayla Brown was gorgeous, not wearing a ring, and he had a few days to enjoy her company—around town and in bed. He’d wine and dine her, she’d give him her full attention and then they’d both go their separate ways, maybe hooking up once or twice a year when he came to Rust Creek Falls to visit his brothers. Perfect.
The more he looked at her, the more he had another thought: Forget Kalispell. I’m whisking her away to Ibiza or a Greek island for the weekend. No harm in a decadent no-strings weekend romance if they were both for it, right?
She was staring at him. About to say yes. Of course she was. C’mon.
“Oh, I don’t think I’m your type, Mr. Jones,” Mikayla said. She took another bite of her donut, a hint of pink tongue catching a flick of errant custard.
He held her gaze, able to feel his desire for her in every cell of his body. “Trust me. You are.”
She took a breath, lifted her chin and stood up.
Which was when it became obvious that she was very pregnant.
Mikayla gave the guy five seconds to run screaming out the door of Daisy’s Donuts. Maybe even three.
A wealthy, hot man with a diamond-studded belt buckle, slicked-back movie-star blond hair and intense blue eyes glittering with desire and challenge? Yeah, he’d run as soon as he realized he was coming on to a pregnant woman.
All six feet two inches of muscular millionaire cowboy froze, those gorgeous blue eyes on her seven-months-pregnant belly.
She would have burst out laughing if a tiny part of her wasn’t a bit angry. A minute ago she’d been his biggest fantasy—apparently. Now, not so much.
Reality always won.
“Oh,” he said. “You’re...”
Ding, ding, ding. “Pregnant.”
“I...I didn’t mean to intrude on your time together,” he said quickly, slowly backing away with his coffee and what was left of his donut. “Enjoy your afternoon. It was very nice meeting you both.”
So, eight seconds. He was out the door and probably stopped around the corner, catching his breath from actually having been flirting with a pregnant woman.
“Why is every Jones brother better-looking than the last?” Eva asked, coming over with extra napkins.
The man was beyond good-looking. He was the kind of gorgeous that was hard to draw your gaze from, and Mikayla had felt a connection, a tiny little spark of chemistry that went beyond just the physical. There had been something sweet under the sizzling in their two-minute conversation—before her belly had introduced itself.
But he was gone. As expected. And as it should be! Mikayla Brown wasn’t looking for a man. Or a savior. Or a father for her baby. That wasn’t how life worked. If she met someone and they fell in love and he was wonderful and father material, okay, fine.
Now she did burst out laughing. Ha ha ha. Like that would happen.
She’d been burned bad by the father of her baby, which hurt like hell. She’d cried her eyes out, wished until she’d marked every star, and she’d still been abandoned, her baby unwanted by the man who’d helped create him or her. She hated that with every fiber of her being. And she didn’t understand it. But that was when that handy word came in again: reality. Things were what they were, and she damned well was going to make the best of them. She had a baby to consider, a life
