Mr. Hyde was fit to be tied! Rugged Austin Hyde was up to his brawny biceps in a bizarre situation. His mad scientist brother had gone and appropriated Austin's "assets" to impregnate a tycoon's widow at his fertility clinic. Worse, rumor had it that the elegant Candice VanAusdale might be making a baby simply to inherit big bucks—without having a clue the kid would be his! Mr. Hyde was fit to be tied, but not tied down by a web of lies. Yet how to untangle "Dr. Jekyll's " deception?
Clearly Austin had to go undercover. Invade Candice's isolation. Get close enough to the breathtaking blonde to see for himself what the woman was made of. Hiring on as her handyman seemed the perfect solution. Trouble was, the bashful beleaguered beauty unleashed Austin's every possessive male instinct. And soon he ached to make both mother and child his own. Blast! How dare "Dr. Jekyll" domesticate Mr. Hyde?
PRINT ISBN 1-60154-407-3
(284 pages) Spicy
"You've got a trickle of grease running down your chin," Austin pointed out matter-of-factly.
Candice automatically grabbed for her napkin and dabbed her chin--before catching sight of his wicked expression.
"Gotcha. Lesson number two: don't take everything and everyone so seriously." He started on his third slice of pizza. She was still working on her first. "By the way, are you going to breastfeed?"
Candice jerked in shock. The slice of pizza in her hand did a somersault, landing pepperoni side down on her silk blouse.
Austin kept right on eating, his look way too innocent to be believable. He shrugged his big shoulders. "Pizza now--baby puke later--one way or the other, that shirt had to go."
Lesson number three? Candice peeled the pizza from her shirt, grimacing at the stain left behind. It was ruined all right. And wet. Yucky.
Austin pushed back his chair. "I've got a t-shirt you can throw on."
"No, I--that's okay. It's not that bad." The possibility of wearing his shirt sounded so ... intimate.
He kept on going as if she hadn't protested, returning with an old black and gold football jersey. "It's not much, but it's my favorite shirt."
"You played football?" Why was she surprised? With those shoulders and muscled thighs, was it any wonder?
He rolled the shirt into a ball and threw it--football style. She caught it, fingering the slick, worn material. Silly tears stung her eyes. She must be tired, to cry just because he offered her his favorite shirt...
"Tight-end. You know where the bathroom is?"
Tight-end. Referring to the position he'd played in football conjured up an image of him cleaning the pool in those indecently short shorts. Oh boy, was it ever. Another admirable asset.
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