Expecting the Boss’s Baby by Christine Rimmer Page A

money—and is fully expected to do his part making more money. My uncle refused to follow the plan.”
    She knew that Great Escapes was not a huge moneymaker. “So you’re kind of like your uncle, huh?”
    The dig didn’t even faze him. “Yeah, guess I am. But I do understand money and I know whom to hire to make me more of it, so I can afford to indulge myself in my passion for travel and in my magazine.”
    â€œAnd in your airplanes and expensive cars and designer motorcycles.”
    â€œYes, exactly. And still my fortune just keeps on growing.”
    â€œNot that you’re bragging about that or anything.”
    He slanted her a glance. “You really should be more impressed with me, you know.”
    â€œSorry, I’ll work on that.”
    â€œAnd where was I?”
    â€œYour ne’er-do-well rancher uncle who taught you to fly.”
    â€œThat’s it. Now and then, I got to go visit Uncle Devon. He started teaching me to fly when I was eight.”
    She rested her camera in her lap. “Eight, yikes! That shouldn’t be legal.”
    â€œBut it is. You can start to learn at any age. You just have to be tall enough to reach the controls.”
    â€œBut you grew up on the East Coast, right?”
    â€œWe had homes all over the world. But we lived in an apartment on Park Avenue. And we had a house upstate—not that we ever visited there after my mother died. The house had been hers. My dad couldn’t bear to part with it, but he couldn’t stand to be there either. He never admitted it, but I knew it brought back too many memories of her.”
    â€œYou have brothers and sisters?”
    He shook his head. “I was an only child.”
    It seemed strange, thinking of Dax as a child—with a mom and a dad and a ne’er-do-well uncle. She chuckled. “You know, Dax, I can’t picture you with a mom—or a dad, for that matter. Then again, everybody has one of each, right?”
    He shrugged. “I hardly remember my mom. I was five when she died.”
    She thought of her own mom, of Aleta’s innate goodness, her fierce love for each and every one of her nine children. “How sad for you,” she told him softly.
    He sent her another glance and a faint smile in response, then turned his gaze back to the wide sky ahead.
    The weather was perfect. Zoe put her camera away and settled back in the comfy leather seat. Through thewindscreen, the sky was endless, not a cloud in sight, a gorgeous expanse of baby blue. The steady drone of the engine lulled her and the Dramamine made her sleepy. She let her eyes drift shut.
    For a long time, she drifted, dreaming in snatches, coming slightly awake to the smooth, steady drone of the Cessna’s engine, to awareness that she was on her way to the jungles of Mexico with her hot-guy boss, Dax Girard, that she was going to meet Ramón Esquevar, taste some of the best coffee in the world, visit the ancient Mayan villages of San Juan Chamula and Zinacantán. She would tell herself she really ought to wake up, act like a decent assistant, make a little conversation, at least.
    But Dax didn’t seem to mind if she slept. He flew the plane and left her alone and she felt so peaceful. Inevitably, after a few moments of wakefulness, she would fade back into her own pleasant oblivion again.
    What woke her, finally, was the turbulence. All of a sudden, they were dipping and dropping, literally lurching through the sky.
    Her eyes popped open as a volley of hail beat at the windscreen.
    It was dark. When had that happened?
    She glanced over at Dax. “Is it nighttime?”
    He shook his head. “Just a squall. But a wild one. I’ve been trying to get above it, but it’s not working. And we seem to be in a dead space. I’m getting no response on the radio. Check your restraint. In a minute, I’m going to see if I can get below this.”
    Check your restraint? She was