The Baby Clause: A Christmas Romance Read online

  The Baby Clause

  Tara Wylde

  Holly Hart

  Red Cape Romance

  Copyright © 2017 by Holly Hart and Tara Wylde

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  I. The Baby Clause

  1. Paul

  2. Lara

  3. Paul

  4. Lara

  5. Lara

  6. Paul

  7. Paul

  8. Paul

  9. Lara

  10. Paul

  11. Paul

  12. Lara

  13. Paul

  14. Lara

  15. Lara

  16. Lara

  17. Lara

  18. Paul

  19. Paul

  20. Paul

  21. Lara

  22. Lara

  23. Paul

  24. Paul

  25. Lara

  26. Paul

  27. Paul

  28. Lara

  29. Lara

  30. Lara

  31. Lara

  32. Lara

  33. Lara

  34. Paul

  35. Paul

  36. Paul

  37. Paul

  38. Lara

  Epilogue

  II. Dark Nights - A USA Today Best-selling Novella

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  III. Keeping Her

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Chapter 122

  Chapter 123

  Chapter 124

  Chapter 125

  Chapter 126

  Chapter 127

  Chapter 128

  Chapter 129

  Chapter 130

  Chapter 131

  132. EPILOGUE: SARA

  IV. Daddy Wanted

  Chapter 133

  Chapter 134

  Chapter 135

  Chapter 136

  Chapter 137

  Chapter 138

  Chapter 139

  Chapter 140

  Chapter 141

  Chapter 142

  Chapter 143

  Chapter 144

  Chapter 145

  Chapter 146

  Chapter 147

  Chapter 148

  Chapter 149

  Chapter 150

  Chapter 151

  Chapter 152

  Chapter 153

  Chapter 154

  Chapter 155

  Chapter 156

  Chapter 157

  Chapter 158

  Chapter 159

  160. Epilogue (Elina)

  Part I

  The Baby Clause

  All I want for Christmas... is a baby.

  But Lara is giving me an even greater honor.

  I’m going to be her first.

  It's no secret.

  I've wanted to be a dad for as long as I can remember.

  Ached for it every night.

  And now I ache for her.

  Lara.

  The woman I'm going to make my wife.

  Our eyes met from across the room, and I knew it had to be her.

  The woman to bear my child.

  This Christmas I'll give her my heart.

  And she'll give my the gift I've always dreamed of.

  1

  Paul

  Pushing my way through the Blind Pig’s heavy tinted glass doors was my first mistake.

  I should have gone with my first instinct and raided the mini-bar in my hotel room. That’s exactly what I would have done had I not happened to have walked past the window and noticed the elegant old brick building across the street. And the somewhat old-fashioned sign hanging over the huge doors welcoming people to The Blind Pig and promising the best spirits they’d ever tasted.

  Given my black mood, I told myself that going there, surrounding myself with people, was smarter than sitting alone in a darkened hotel room. While attempting to drink myself out of my misery, while staring at my laptop and while struggling to read the psychological and physiological profiles of one girl after another.

  Now I am here, surrounded by at least a hundred and fifty strangers, each one laughing and having the time of their lives, while black-clad waiters transport trays of drinks from point A to point B. At the far end of the cavernous room, revelers are dancing to the upbeat music provided by an honest-to-goodness live five-piece jazz band.

  The entire place feels alien.

  It’s like no bar I’ve ever set foot in before. Dim lighting, lots of gleaming chrome and soft glowing wood. In addition to tall tables and chairs, customers can also choose to sit on huge, overstuffed couches with low tables in front of them that are placed along the perimeter of the room.

  Halloween decorations that consist of pumpkins, bats, and a few skeletons adorn the walls.

  This isn’t the place for me. Everything about it is designed to shake a person out of their foul mood, help them find a silver lining. That’s the last thing I want or need. I should be in a shadowy biker bar where I can nurse one beer after another and stew about just how rotten this entire day has been.

  I should turn around and head back to the hotel. But I don’t. I wind my way past the table, ignoring the bursts of laughter and constant din of cheerful conversation until I reach the bar. I sit on the one empt
y stool, which is right beside a couple who are too engrossed in one another to realize I’m there.

  My second mistake of the evening.

  Three bartenders wearing dark blazers and fedoras fill ornate glasses and pass them to the hovering waitstaff. A long woman dressed in a short, beaded, bright red flapper dress rattles a heavy cocktail shaker while she laughs at something one of the patrons has said. I stare at her, taking in the way the dress hugs her delectable backside and how her generous breasts jiggle with each exuberant move of her arm.

  She removes the lid from the shaker and pours the contents into a waiting martini glass, which she pushes toward the customer. Still laughing at whatever joke he’s told her, she turns away. Her bright blue eyes clash with mine.

  Mistake number three.

  2

  Lara

  Holy Mother of …

  I cancel the direction of my thoughts before they cross into blasphemous territory and rip my gaze away from the dark stare of the man who has just sat down at my bar. His magnetic presence caught my eye the second he pushed his way through the front door. I watched him pause, take in everything the Blind Pig has to offer. For a moment, my heart stopped when it looked like he was going to turn around and leave just as quickly as he’d come.

  Please don’t, I silently whispered.

  I don’t know why, but there was something about him that spoke to something deep, almost primordial, inside of me, and I knew I needed to get to know him as badly as I needed to draw my next breath.

  Responsibilities be damned, if he’d walked out that door, I would have tossed the drink I was mixing aside and chased after him.

  But he didn’t leave. Not only is he still here, but he’s sitting at the bar, just a handful of feet away from me.

  Now that he’s here, I just need to figure out what to do with him.

  A bead of sweat races down the length of my spine as I fight the twin urges to both hurry toward him and to turn and run far away.

  I sneak a peek from beneath my lashes. Yep, he’s still sitting there and he’s just as magnetic as he was a second ago when our eyes met.

  Shit.

  I don’t know who he is or why he’s here, but every single fiber of my being senses he’s going to complicate my life just as much as the revenuer messed up my great-granddaddy’s moonshine empire.

  “Earth to Lara.” Tracy’s unmistakable nasal voice captures my attention and I turn to her.

  “What is it, Trace?” The sound of my voice makes me wince. I sound too breathless, too distracted. It doesn’t escape Tracy’s attention.

  She floats a brow and taps the edge of the black folder she’s holding against the gleaming bar top.

  “The Flynns wanta pay their tab. What’s put you in in la-la land?” She glances toward the far end of the bar and spots the dark stranger. “Ah. I see.” Propping her elbows on the bar, she leans closer. “Who is he?”

  Grateful for the distraction, I grab the credit card poking out of the folder, slip it into the chip reader and wait for technology to do its thing. “Who?”

  Tracy rolls her eyes. “Don’t give me that. You were looking at that guy. Thinking about him. And rightfully so. He’s the hottest thing that’s walked into this place in days. Maybe even weeks.”

  “I don’t know who he is.” My little card reader flashes approved. I slip the card out and wait as the printer comes to life and spews out a receipt for the Flynns to sign. I scan the information, making sure everything is in order before passing it to Tracy. I like the convenience of technology, but I don’t trust it, especially not when it comes to getting a bar bill paid. A single mistake can easily add up to over a hundred dollars in this business.

  “You need to get your ass over there. Get him a drink and then get his number.”

  “Tracy!”

  Another eye roll from the waitress. “Hey. You’ve been in a long dry spell. It’s time you got some action with a guy. And he’s a looker. I’d be all over him myself, except—” She waves her left hand so that the small diamond on her finger catches the light. “—I’ve already got me a good one.”

  A familiar heaviness settles into the pit of my stomach, the same sense of dread I get each time Tracy flashes her new engagement ring. “Some of us don’t move at the speed of light.”

  Tracy met the guy who is now her fiancé about eighteen days ago. They plan on exchanging vows on their three-week anniversary. Personally, I think she’s nuts. When it comes to relationships, I’ve always believed in taking my time and moving slow, making sure it’s the right person, or at the very least, someone I can trust.

  She tucks the receipts and the credit card into the black folder. “It’s not like I’m exactly tripping over good guys here. Now that I’ve found one of my very own, I’m not gonna give him a chance to get away.”

  Tracy spins away from the bar, her fingers curled around the folder before I have a chance to respond. She knows my feelings on the subject and doesn’t want to hear them again.

  Sighing, I turn toward the man seated at the far end of the bar. As much as I’d like to have one of the guys who are working shoulder-to-whiskey bottle with me deal with him, I’m the person who is supposed to take care of the barflies while they handle the orders coming in from the floor. Changing the flow at this point would create problems for the rest of the night.

  Plastering my best bright, non-committal, business-like smile on my face, I walk to the other side of the bar, occasionally exchanging a quick word or smile with one of my regulars, but not stopping until I meet the newcomer.

  Oh. My. God.

  From a distance he was good looking, but up close… It’s almost too much, rather like having Brad Pitt sitting at my bar. Not the current Brad Pitt, but Brad Pitt before his first marriage, Legends of the Fall Pitt. Only with broader shoulders and soulful brown eyes.

  It’s as if the Greek gods smiled down on me and decided to create a man that checks off all my turn-ons. Soulful eyes, sexy mouth, high cheekbones, hair maybe a little too long to be fashionable. Long, lean body with shoulders so broad they may actually block out the sun.

  Anxiety twists my gut and sets my heart racing.

  I’m no good at this. I mean, when it comes to making small talk with customers and listening as they pour their heart out, I’m great. But approaching a guy that flips my trigger—I completely suck at it. I don’t know what to say. Hell, I don’t even know what to do with my hands, let alone where to look.

  I’m torn between wanting to crawl across the bar and wrap my legs around his narrow hips and wanting to race to my little office and lock myself in, away from the temptation that is this gorgeous, unnamed man sitting at my bar.

  I wrap my fingers around the edge of the bar top, holding on tightly just in case my knees suddenly give way.

  “Howdy.”

  The sound of my voice, a half octave higher than normal, makes me wince inwardly. I’m supposed to be a worldly woman. I’ve served hundreds of handsome men, though none as good looking as this guy. I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who holds a candle to this guy.

  Swallowing, I try again. “Hi. Welcome to the Blind Pig.”

  His gaze sweeps over my body, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. It takes all my self-will not to shiver. “Interesting choice in work clothes.”

  His voice is deep and flavored with just the faintest hint of a Southern accent. Why does it have to be deep? I’ve been a sucker for deep voices ever since my hormones kicked in as a teenager. I force myself to concentrate on his words, and not the interesting things the sound does to my body.

  I look down at my flapper dress and shrug. “It gets the job done.”

  “Mmm.”

  He presses one hand flat against the bar top and rises up so he can scan the rest of my body. The move brings him close enough for me to pick up the spicy scent of his cologne.